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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30107025">The Heelshire Mystery</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incubus_Softhands/pseuds/Incubus_Softhands'>Incubus_Softhands</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), The Boy (2016 Bell)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Foreplay, Intercrural Sex, Light Angst, Masturbation, Mystery, Nipple Licking, Olfactophilia, Oral Sex, Panty Kink, Porn With Plot, Reader-Insert, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Underwear Kink, Vaginal Fingering, mazophilia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:54:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>53,159</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30107025</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incubus_Softhands/pseuds/Incubus_Softhands</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Sherlock (BBC) and The Boy (2016) exist in the same universe. </p><p>Sherlock entrusts his most reliable detective, you, to unravel the mystery behind the deaths of Emily Cribbs and Brahms Heelshire, by having you work as a nanny for the Heelshire's mansion.</p><p>-------------------------------</p><p>This is mainly Brahms/Reader, but I couldn't help but include a smidgen of Sherlock/Reader fluff too.<br/>Tags &amp; Ratings may change as the story progresses.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brahms Heelshire/Reader, Brahms Heelshire/You, Sherlock Holmes/Reader, Sherlock Holmes/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>123</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1 - Newspaper Clipping</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock was sitting in his apartment with one leg crossed over the other, face obscured by the local newspaper he was currently absorbed in. For the past year he'd taken a habit to reading the news, to find any semblance of substance to fill his brain during times of work-related drought. Sure, he could spend his time on the internet, but at times he found it to be more damaging to his brain rather than beneficial.<br/>
As he was skimming through another page, just as he was about to skip over a particularly familiar advertisement, he paused while raising an eyebrow.</p><p>"Looking to hire a stay-at-home nanny for a young, astute 8 year old boy. Must have a minimum of 5 years of experience in childcare, and is willing to tend to Mansion-related chores. Will pay £45 an hour, please contact the Heelshires via phone and/or mail;<br/>
01632 96046, 50 Park Row, Sheffield, BS1 3TS"</p><p>"Still looking, I see..", Sherlock mumbled under his breath before gently laying the flimsy newspaper down on his lap, his fingers forming together under his chin in thought. He'd seen that same advertisement ever since he started reading the local newspaper, and had always disregarded it until now. Today was a particularly slow day for him.</p><p>Going into the recesses of his memory, he delved deep until he pulled out a cold case he'd heard in passing. His eyes snapped open before pulling his laptop from his cluttered office desk, which was usually reserved for John. He quickly typed in the search bar 'Emily Cribbs and Brahms Heelshire' with his nimble fingers, pulling up a news article about the mysterious and unfortunate deaths of the two children.<br/>
"Cribbs found in forest.... Brahms died by house fire...." he muttered from the back of his throat as his eyes skimmed through the entire article. Once he'd fully understood the backstory, he took to the forums for more insider information. A smirk slid across his face as he discovered that, according to past rejected Nannies, the Heelshire's 8 year old boy was not made of flesh and bone, but was rather a porcelain replacement of their late son Brahms. Having fully piqued his interest, he slammed his laptop closed and stood from his chair, striding towards his iconic black trench coat and swinging it over his shoulders while bursting through his front door.</p><p>Once he arrived at Scotland Yard, he pushed through the font doors dramatically and marched with fervour through the corridors. "Sherlock...?" a flabbergasted Anderson questioned Sherlock's presence, which was swiftly ignored as Sherlock made his way to a very specific destination in the building. Turning a very familiar corner, he licked his lips in anticipation as the door to your office came into his vision.<br/>
As he burst into your office, he's met with the recognizable expression of a kubrick stare that he has become well acquainted with. You sat there with a large, half-empty, coffee-stained mug that sarcastically read '#1 Detective' in one hand, the other well-acquainted with your forehead as you'd just finished filing the last of your assignments. All you could do was sigh and slowly close your eyes, as Sherlock stood in front of your only exit point, standing there like a child waiting for permission to speak.</p><p>"Sherly, my patience has run dry this week. This is a terrible time for you to show up with another one of your 'schemes.'" you said as you threw up quotation marks with your fingers at the final word. "When is it ever a good time to show up for you," he responded, and you could only chuckle as you put your mug down to put your hands behind your head, "Go on then, hit me with it." He immediately sat down in the chair in front of your cluttered desk, explaining the findings he assembled.<br/>
Once he caught you up to speed, you squinted your eyes with an accusatory air. "So what does that have to do with me..?", you said as you crossed your arms. "Obviously you'd be fit for the job," he responded blankly, and you couldn't help but burst out laughing at the assumption he made about you. "Do you seriously not remember the disaster that was me babysitting Rosie? She destroyed my fireplace with those bloody crayons of hers, you know I detest children as it is," you retorted with a scoff. "Unless the doll reanimates itself, I doubt you'd have any problems taking care of the thing," Sherlock countered, taking his turn to fold his own arms together.</p><p>You sighed, looking at your filed documents spread across you desk. "How much was the payment again..?", you asked, more to convince yourself rather than out of curiosity. "£45 an hour, and you'll be gone for a minimum of 2 months. All I ask of you is to gather as much information that you can during your time there. Consider it a holid-"</p><p>"I'm in," you said as you stood up, gathering your coat and faux-leather satchel. Sherlock had already held the door open for you by the time you had your coat on, the both of you striding in unison until you left Scotland Yard.</p><p>Sitting in John's chair, you were preoccupied with your phone, texting Lestrade about your current whereabouts along with you and Sherlock's plan. Just as you hit 'send', Sherlock appeared behind you, handing you a fresh cup of tea. You accepted it, taking a miniscule sip before asking; "So what's the plan then?" He settled his own cup of tea on it's saucer, "Well, we need to get you in that Mansion, first of all," he paused as he took in the full scope of your usual ensemble; an all black, two-piece suit, "I suppose the first step would be to make you appear... friendlier," he said with pursed lips. You glanced back at his own intimidating purple shirt &amp; grey slacks with a raised eyebrow, "..and where do you think we're going to find our frame of reference for a "friendlier" look?" you said with a slight sneer. "Well.. I did have one person in mind-", and on queue, enters Mrs Hudson with a tray of biscuits in hand.<br/>
"Oh it's you! I knew I recognised that voice from upstairs!" Mrs Hudson said with her signature dopamine-inducing smile. "I'm surprised you remember what I sound like, it's been far too long," you said, standing up just as she placed the biscuit tray on the coffee table, giving her a gentle hug and a kiss on the cheek. "So how have you been lately?"</p><p>After formalities and catch-up chat had commenced, to Sherlock's impatient dismay, you both eventually get Mrs Hudson up to speed on your current predicament. "Well darling, if you're looking to become suitable as a nanny, it wouldn't do you harm with a bit of colour. Maybe even a dress, if you feel so inclined." You nodded in agreement, already picturing in your head a suitable outfit for the job. "...Maybe even a bit of makeup?" Mrs Hudson subtly slipped in, to where you responded with faux offence. "Just to bring out those lovely eyes, dearie!", she said in defence, bringing out a small giggle from you, "I'll take that into consideration," you said, feeling slightly lighter from the titillating conversation you were having with the beloved landlady. "Thank you for your input, Mrs Hudson." you said just as she was making her way towards the staircase, "anytime darling! Please do visit again, it can be rather drab living with Sherly nowadays." she said before she returned to her living space. You glanced back at Sherlock, seeing him sitting there with a pout. You could only scoff with an eyebrow raised, sipping the last of your tea.<br/>
There was a mutual understanding between the two of you that the conversation had finished. You put your teacup back on its saucer on the coffee table, the biscuits left untouched. You stood up and grabbed your jacket, swinging it over your shoulders. "Email me those forums you mentioned, it'd do me good to get in contact with the previous nannies", you mentioned as you buttoned up your coat, grabbing the Heelshire's newspaper advertisement, glancing towards Sherlock before leaving.<br/>
On your way home in the taxi, you read over the advertisement, noting that there was only a number and address given in their contact information. "No internet connection.." you mumbled to yourself. Leaning back in your chair, you realised this nanny job could be much more difficult without an internet connection to keep your mind busy in between your "child-caring" responsibilities. You figured you should call them to apply for the job, rather than through snail mail. You were impatient, but you also knew that Sherlock was even moreso.</p><p>Once you arrived at your apartment, after begrudgingly climbing up 6 flights of stairs, you flopped onto your couch and checked the time on your analogue watch. "Seven twenty seven.." you mumbled to yourself, sighing as you draped your forearm over your eyes. "Dinner... or.." you gasped, lifting your head to look towards the fridge, recalling yesterday's memory of chinese takeout.<br/>
Satisfied by your microwaved-to-death meal, you check your email to find that Sherlock did in fact send you the link to the forums, along with "I appreciate you for going through with this, -Sherlock", written at the end, also noticing that the email was sent exactly 2 minutes after you left his apartment. You lightly chuckled, you always admired Sherlock's roundabout ways of saying thank you. Once you clicked on the link, your hyper focused mode was activated. You privately messaged each individual that had previously attempted to work for the Heelshires, hoping to find someone willing to give more information to you over the phone.<br/>
Just as you looked at the clock, which read 20:36, you heard a ping come from your laptop. Your eyes darted towards the red notification, clicking on it without hesitation. "I'm totally willing to talk about it :)", a woman by the name of Janine responded. You exchanged numbers with her, and not long after you were both discussing her experience with the eccentric family.</p><p>"Thank you so much for divulging me with this information, you have no idea how much this'll help." you said as your conversation came to a close. "No problem! Good luck with your application, judging by your voice I'm sure Brahms will be happy to accept you," she responded, which unearthed an awkward chuckle on your end. "Alright, have a nice night." you said as you removed your phone from your ear. "You too!" she said right before you hung up and deleted her contact number.<br/>
You looked back at your laptop screen, reading aloud the notes you took during your phone call. "Creepy porcelain doll treated as if it were alive, has to be dressed out of his pyjamas each morning at 8am, must be read poetry, specifically 'loud and clear' according to Mrs Heelshire, and enjoys his music unnaturally loud. Food is never thrown out, the Heelshires prefer to keep their leftovers frozen due to living in a 'country house', fireplaces are not to be used," you nodded to yourself in understanding, considering the circumstances, "..and traps are to be emptied of rats." You finished reading your notes to yourself, rereading them one last time before emailing them to Sherlock, figuring he'd appreciate them.<br/>
Satisfied with your findings, you did your normal nightly routine of a relaxing shower, light skincare routine and wearing your softest pyjamas, before drifting off to sleep in bed while hugging your duvet blanket close to your body.</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2 - Rural</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At 6am, 2 hours before your alarm was set to go off, you jolted awake. This wasn’t your first time waking up earlier than you intended. You begrudgingly sit up, groaning as you feel your joints and muscles wake up with you. You instinctively check your phone, the brightness of the screen causing your eyes to squint. Finding nothing of interest, besides a few messages from colleagues, you set your phone down and stare at the ceiling, debating with yourself as to whether you’ll get up now or sleep in. Considering it was a Saturday, it gave you ample time to extend your sleep, but your mind couldn’t stop racing over the important call you planned this morning.</p><p>Just as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, your phone screen lit up. It was an email from Sherlock titled “Your Identity; Improvise.” Clicking on it, you found pictures of false documents; a fake birth certificate, and a fake passport. Same first name, different second name. Sherlock liked to keep it simple like that. Considering there was no backstory to your new identity, you figured the ‘improvise’ portion of the email was for you to organise. </p><p>After going through your morning routine, you sat in your living room, fresh mug of coffee on the coffee table, situated right next to where your feet rested. Your eyes were focused on the laptop screen, writing out the details of your false background. “Lived in the countryside.. have two younger siblings, Terry and Jay.. moved to the city for work, but wanted this job opportunity to rekindle my ‘love’ for country life.. loves kids..”, you groaned, “..and had many years of experience babysitting throughout secondary school and early college years..”, you finished reading to yourself, sighing as you leaned your head back on your couch. You raised your arm above your head, reading your wristwatch. “Eleven forty seven.. Seems like a decent time,” you mumbled to no one in particular. </p><p>You placed your laptop next to you on the couch, reaching for your phone on the wooden coffee table. Looking at the newspaper ad, you dialed the Heelshire’s phone number and paused, your thumb hovering over the green call button. You took a heavy breath, in an attempt to calm your uncertain nerves, before pressing the button and holding your phone against your ear.</p><p>The call itself was rather easygoing, besides the fact that you could tell how uptight Mrs. Heelshire seemed through her speech patterns, but other than that you only had to glance at your notes once every few minutes whenever she asked small details about yourself, such as your age and whether you had past experience. After roughly 20 minutes, she had already set a date for you to visit the Mansion, to assess whether you’re up to par for the job. “Must have been desperate..” you thought to yourself. Once the call had finished, you instantly swiped to your contacts, calling Sherlock to update him on the news.</p><p>“So you got the job then?” was the first thing you heard on his end. “Monday, they want to meet me then,” you replied, getting straight to the point. “Get your bags packed, I’ll collect you in 20. Be ready,” he said before hanging up. You were used to the fact that Sherlock’s impatience barely gave you breathing space at this point, so you closed your laptop whilst chugging the last of your coffee before springing to your bedroom, getting ready to pack your clothes.</p><p>Your room looked like a tornado had struck it by the time you finished packing. You spent most of your time fishing out your older, more colourful clothes, to help fit the job description. “I really need to donate these once I’m done with this case..” you said to yourself as you put your hand on your forehead, assessing the mess left behind. “Future me can sort that out,” you mumbled as you looked at your various pieces of technology. Eventually deciding to keep it simple; your phone, laptop and chargers, you noticed that you had three minutes left before Sherlock would be knocking at your door. Rushing to your bathroom, you gathered your various toiletries, making sure to include a toothbrush, and stuffed them into your bulging suitcase before zipping it up and pushing it off your bed. You stood there, hands on hips as your eyes zoned out, looking over your mental checklist in your head, until you finished with a satisfied nod. You sat at the edge of your bed, putting on your comfiest shoes just as you heard an expected knock on your door.</p><p>Jacket in hand and your suitcase following in tow, you made your way to your front door, opening it to unsurprisingly find Sherlock standing right in front of it, arms tucked behind his back. “Hurry up then, we have a long journey together,” he said as he… reached for his own suitcase? “Woah, didn’t realise you were into the nanny business as well,” you joked as you locked your apartment door shut. “Don’t be smart. I’ll be staying at an inn nearby,” he retorted. “Awww, you wanted to keep an eye on me? Keep me safe?” you mocked him as you both made your way down the stairs. “It’s to keep the investigation going smoothly,” he responded, eyes avoiding your jester-like pair. You could only chuckle, you knew his true intentions for wanting to stay close, everyone in the department considers him your annoyingly protective older brother by this point. </p><p>Once you both made your way out of the apartment complex, the cab was ready and waiting by the edge of the curb, the trunk of the car open and ready for your suitcases. Once you both put your suitcases in the car, you stood at the sidewalk, doing small stretches to prepare your muscles and joints for the 4 hour drive. </p><p>The drive itself was relatively quiet, as expected. You were absorbed in one of the books you brought along with you, while Sherlock was absorbed in his phone until his cell service depleted the further you got from the city. When twitter was no longer an option for him, he opted to staring out the window, glancing at your reflection whenever the trees passed by. </p><p>By the time you arrived at your destination, you were fast asleep, book resting on your chest. Sherlock shook your shoulder in order to wake you up, “Come on, we need to book ourselves in,” is all he said before he left the cab. You groggily opened your side of the car, rubbing your eyes as the setting sun came into view over the quaint town. “Not bad,” you said, observing the landscape of the town. It wasn’t exactly bustling, but it wasn’t quiet either. Once you walked to the trunk of the car, Sherlock had already closed the lid, both of your suitcases resting on the car. You picked up your suitcase handle as he paid the taxi driver for his service, and you both made your way into the inn.</p><p>As you stepped inside the inn, you weren’t exactly blown away by the decor. It’s everything you’d expect from a town in the middle of nowhere, you’re just thankful it had an inn in the first place. You made your way to the front desk, catching up on the conversation Sherlock was having with, who you presumed was, the manager. “...and this lady will only be staying for two nights,” Sherlock finished his conversation, to where the manager glanced towards you and you nodded back, “That’s me,” you smiled, hand held out for the room key. The manager smiled back, dropping the key in your hand. “I’m a big fan of you Sherlock, I’m so grateful to have you stay here,” the manager directed her attention back to Sherlock, to where he just nodded in response, swiftly making his way to the elevator. As the elevator door closed in front of the both of you, taking you to the top floor, you chuckled. “Seems like even people who live in the sticks know who you are,” you said as you glanced at him from the corner of your eye. “Of course, I’m famous,” he responded with a smirk, making his way out of the elevator as the doors opened. All you could do was roll your eyes and follow suit. </p><p>Once you both made your way to your respective rooms, which both happened to be opposite to each other, you both unlocked your doors, walked in and closed them simultaneously. Your first instinct once you saw the large bed in the middle of the room was to flop face-first into it, and so you did. You sighed, the bed was much firmer than you expected. You only hoped the Heelshire’s mansion lived up to it’s expected luxury, mattress-wise. As you rolled over onto your side to check the time, you noticed a dark figure across the room. After having a brief heart attack, you soon recognise the mop of dark curly hair sitting in the lounge chair, glancing out the window. “Still scared of ghosts?”, he said in his usual deep tone, his eyes fixed on the town below. You grumbled, sitting up at the edge of the bed, facing him, “no...when the hell did you get in here?” you said in a scrutinising voice, “You never locked the door.” he responded, matter-of-factly. You shook your head, “What do you want, then? I want to have an early rest,” his gaze is directed towards you this time, his brows slightly furrowed, “Rest? We don’t have time for rest, we need to investigate. I’m planning on going to one of the local pubs, just try and squeeze the public out of any information they might have left,” his eyes directed back at the streets, along with the people walking among them.</p><p>“Investigate? Together?”, you lightly chuckled while lying back down on the sturdy mattress, “Wouldn’t it be quite inconspicuous for the ‘world famous consulting detective’ and the Heelshire’s new nanny to be seen ‘investigating’ together out in public? I am supposed to be ‘undercover’ after all,” you said, finger quotation marks galore. “Put one more quotation mark up...” Sherlock threatened under his breath, but all you could do was giggle. It was rare for the both of you to spend so much time together. Up until the point where he burst into your office, it’d been weeks since the both of you had even exchanged text messages to each other. That was just how the both of you coexisted together. </p><p>“Well, if you’re so determined to have your beauty sleep, be my guest,” he said as he stood up from the low-down chair, “I’ll be gone this evening. Try not to miss me,” he said sarcastically as he made his way to the door. You joined him once he was outside of the door frame, “Be sure to keep yourself low-key, you are ‘famous’ after all,” you finished with a final pair of finger quotation marks before shutting the door in his displeased face.</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3 - Grocery Boy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You woke up Sunday morning, feeling much fresher after a good night’s sleep, albeit your neck did feel a bit strained. Checking the time, you noticed it was only 2 minutes past seven. Sending a quick text to Sherlock to inform him of your consciousness, you hoped he didn’t spend too much time exploring outdoors last night. Throwing your duvet off your body, you swung your legs over the side of the mattress and got yourself ready to face the day. </p><p>Finishing your shower, you looked down at your final achromatic outfit that you folded and placed on your chair. You sighed, knowing you’ll have to retire your favourite aesthetic for the next few months. After you had gotten dressed, you looked at yourself in the mirror. Staring at your face, you were reminded of the advice Mrs Hudson had given you. “I suppose now’s as good a time as any to practice..”, you thought as you made your way to your suitcase, pulling out your rarely-touched makeup bag.</p><p>Once you were satisfied with how you looked makeup-wise, you figured you should check up on Sherlock, seeing as how he hadn’t responded to your text. Heading to his room, you knocked on his door lightly. “Sherly..?” you said quietly when his door didn’t open. Soon after you heard a click, along with the door swinging inward. Your eyes were soon fixated on his face, the top of your ears and the back of your neck flushing when you realised he’d only left the shower, towel wrapped around his waist. “You could’ve just said you were busy,” you said, raising an eyebrow. He turned to the side, allowing you access to his room which you naturally obliged, walking in. “You still need to get yourself situated with the masculine form,” he scrutinised, “It’s childish.”</p><p>“Listen, you can’t blame me for being raised as an only child that attended an all-girls school,” you retorted, cringing at your inability to look directly at him in his current state. You found yourself glued to the window, hands behind your back as you watched the people below go about their daily business. Once you heard his bathroom door shut, you let go of the breath you didn’t realise you were holding in. You sat on the lounge chair, observing the current state of his room. Surprisingly it hadn’t become a total disaster, yet. He’d already begun his habit of not dressing his bed on the first night, so you could only pray it didn’t get any worse once you left him to his own jurisdiction, for the inn maid’s sake. </p><p>A minute later he exited the bathroom, this time fully clothed, bar the loose belt buckle and the towel that was situated over his head. As he messily ravaged his dark brown curls with the now damp towel in an attempt to dry his hair, he sat at the edge of the bed. “What’s your plan for the day, then?”, you asked, suddenly finding the need to break the silence. “Research,” he muttered, you could tell his voice was still waking up. “Research about the case? I thought you would’ve gotten everything you could by now,” you questioned. He stood up and fastened his belt buckle while shaking his head. He retrieved his laptop and lazily sat down on his bed, “Research to distract, while I wait,” he said blandly, glancing at you before focusing on the dimly lit screen. You nodded in understanding, this was one of Sherlock’s quieter days. You slapped your thighs before standing up, “Welp, I’m going out in town today. I need to situate myself here if I’m gonna temporarily live here for a while,” you said to no response. “Do you want anything while I’m gone?” still no response, to which you could only lightly chuckle through your nose. “Alright then, I won’t be gone for too long.” you said as you left. “Try not to get kidnapped,” you heard him say as you closed the door, all you could do was roll your eyes and smirk at his reply.</p><p>As you expected, today was overcast. There was a slight breeze, so you opted to wear your coat as you walked along the streets. It was just like any other Sunday morning, half the stores were closed, and cafe’s were bustling with the elderly who had just recently finished with their Sunday sermon. You noticed that throughout your walk, not many of the people you walked past were young adults. You assumed most had migrated from this small town to the city for more opportunities, so you couldn’t help but feel like you stood out a bit.</p><p>During your travels, you stopped by a quaint grocery store. Knowing Sherlock’s non-existent eating habits, you figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea to pick him up a few snacks. The door opened with a familiar jingle, as most grocery stores do. The store was barren, besides the odd one or two people, along with the clerk himself. You picked a random isle to casually walk through, observing the different biscuit options before deciding on the usual digestives that both you and Sherlock were fond of. </p><p>After picking up a few treats, you were satisfied with your choices and made your way to the front desk. Placing the few things you collected on the desk surface, you were taken aback by the small talk the store clerk made, “Well I’ve certainly never seen your face before,” he observed, and all you could do is smile back at the sudden attention, “Are you new around here? I would’ve recognised you if you weren’t,” he continued. He didn’t seem in any way threatening, so you decided to divulge him, “Yes, I am. I’ve just gotten a new job nearby here, so I’m still new to this town. Well, I haven’t gotten the job yet, but I’m hoping my initiation goes well soon,” you chuckled awkwardly. You couldn’t help but ramble, small talk was not your forte in any shape or form. He nodded, and gave you a kind smile, he seemed nice. “Ah, where are you hoping to work, then?”, he said as he packed your things into a small plastic bag. “Oh, I’m not sure if you’ve heard of them, The Heelshire’s? I’m hoping to become their new nanny for their son,” you said, feigning ignorance of the truth behind their son, Brahms. Just as you were about to hand over your money to the clerk, he paused as his eyes lit up slightly, “The Heelshires? You’re their new nanny?”, he said as his voice lifted a new octave. You couldn’t help but be a bit taken aback slightly, “..yes, at least that’s what I’m hoping for. You know them?” you responded as you finally handed your money over. “I’m their grocery boy,” he said as he put the money in the cash register, while retrieving your change, “Well, grocery man,” he chuckled as he handed you your change, “I’m Malcolm, by the way, and you are…?”, just as you put your spare change in your wallet, you responded with your name. He repeated it back and said, “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I normally pop by each Wednesday for grocery runs for the Heelshires, so I’ll hopefully see you again then..?”, he said, and you nodded in response, “We’ll see each other then. It was nice to meet you, Malcolm,” you smiled at him one last time before fetching your plastic bag of goodies, and headed out the door. </p><p>By the time you knocked on Sherlock’s door, you noticed it was only 4pm. You checked the handle, only to realise he left the door unlocked. You entered and closed the door behind you, only to find him in his usual ‘I’m in my mind palace, please piss off until I’m done’ pose. Sighing lazily, you dropped your bag of goods on the lounge chair, striding over to where he was sitting up on his bed. You clicked your fingers directly in front of his eyes, “Hey! Earth to Sherlock?”, you said in the most irritating voice you could conjure. Having no response, you tousled his hair, “Hellooo? I have new information for you, Einstein,” to which he responded by moving his eyes from the wall directly in front of him to you, who was situated to his right. You smiled, satisfied that you pulled him out of that state. “You’ll have to wait to hear about that, though,” you said as you made your way to your grocery bag. Just as you rummaged through it and pulled out a sleeve of digestives, you turned back around to see him peacefully back at his mind palace. You frowned, throwing the pack of biscuits at his face, to where he scowled at you for disturbing his deep thoughts. “I know you haven’t moved since I left, nevermind having eaten yet,” you responded to his disgruntlement. You made yourself comfortable and sat next to him on the bed, pulling the packet of digestives from his lap and opening them, slotting one in your mouth, before gesturing to him to take one for himself. He obliged and took one, then asked, “So what did you discover, then?” he said as he bit into it.</p><p>“Well, I went into this grocery store…” you told him the brief story of your outing. “..and so now you need not fret while I’m working, knowing I have someone to check up on me every Wednesday,” you jokingly said while nudging his side. He scrunched his nose in annoyance. “Well I suppose you don’t need me here to make sure everything goes smoothly as long as you have this ‘Malcolm’ on your side,” he said in a snide tone as he turned on the small TV in front of the two of you. You gasped in faux shock, “Wow, so rude!”, you countered, before delving your hand into your bag of groceries, picking out a candybar you bought for yourself. </p><p>You both spent your time together scrutinising different TV shows for the rest of the day, until you checked your watch and noticed it was 20:27 at night. “Welp, I better get packing and start studying babysitting 101,” you said with a sigh as you stood up from the bed, stretching your muscles. “What time is your appointment with the Heelshire’s tomorrow?”, he said, his eyes still fixated on the TV before him. “11:30, I already have a taxi booked for then.” You said as you picked up your jacket. “Okay. Have fun,” he said sardonically as you made your way to the door, “Goodnight Sherly,” you said before you left to your own room.</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4 - Mansion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Monday morning, 08:34 to be exact, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, freshly washed and clothed. Your eyes bore deeply into yourself, a unique method you used to ground yourself during times of uncertainty. You don’t know why you were so nervous, you were used to being put in difficult situations, either by Sherlock’s hand or by Scotland Yard as a whole. You splashed your face with cold water in hopes of quickly awakening your nerves, drying your face with a nearby towel before opening your makeup bag.</p><p>Feeling prim and proper in your lightly coloured outfit, with makeup to match, you address the room before you. Everything has been cleaned by your own specifications, the last thing you’d want to leave behind is a mess. Sighing, you place your makeup bag and toiletries in your suitcase before zipping it closed for the final time. Just as you pat the top of your suitcase, you heard a knock on your door. You gently opened it up, unsurprised to see Sherlock standing there waiting patiently. You gestured to let him in, and he does so.</p><p>“You have everything in order then?”, he said as he scoped out your room, “Yep. Everything’s ready, studied last night about different types of etiquette and all that,” you said as you clasped your hands behind your back. “As if you’re not fully trained in that field,” he responded with a chuckle so subtle, you thought you imagined it. The silence was palpable that morning. Sherlock could tell you were nervous about the situation he put you in, and you could tell Sherlock wanted to comfort you as a way to apologise, but with the boundaries you both have set up it can be difficult for you both to express these feelings. So lost in thought, you only realised Sherlock had reached for your shoulder by the time his hand had gripped it gingerly. “I genuinely admire you for going through this, for my sake,” he said, his eyes flickering in between yours. Your heart swelled as you responded with a warm smile. Without thinking, you moved in for a hug, your face flush against his chest, “It’s my pleasure, Sherly.” You couldn’t help it. Sherlock had been trying to reach out and make more friends ever since John had become so preoccupied with work and his daughter Rosamund, so you were grateful you were one of the newcomers that Sherlock was willing to let into his life. With an awkward pat on the back, you knew he was finished with the hug. You laughed lightly before stepping back, “I’m just grateful that you got me two months off work,” you joked, gently punching the side of his arm as he gave a small, but genuine smile in return. “Care for some tea while we wait for your taxi?” he invited.</p><p>After handing your room key to the manager, both you and Sherlock sat in the main lounge, tea and biscuits from the night before on the coffee table in front of you, keeping an eye on the window. At 11am on the dot, the taxi had arrived like you planned and you gathered your things, the both of you heading outside in unison. Once your luggage was placed in the boot, you made your way to the back seat door. “I’ll be expecting a call soon from you,” Sherlock said in his usual stern voice, “Of course. It’ll most likely be through landline, considering the signal is bad in the main town,” you suggested, and he nodded in response. Shutting the taxi door closed, you waved at his retreating figure, while he stood there in his usual intimidating stance, before retreating towards the Inn. </p><p>20 minutes into your ride, the gates that lead into the manor came into view, and your heart slightly dropped. It was everything you expected in the worst way possible; foggy, overgrown and pretty damn creepy. Once the taxi driver got through the rusted gates, you saw the magnitude that was the Heelshire’s Mansion. Although it’s size was to be taken into consideration, the first thing you took note of were the leftover burn marks on the uppermost windows that were left boarded up and generally unattended. The footpath and surrounding garden was massive and well-decorated with stone statues that had seen better days.</p><p>The car came to a halt and you unbuckled your seatbelt, opening the car door to step out of the vehicle. Fishing out your wallet to pay for the driver’s service, he quickly halts you, “No need to worry, the Heelshire’s have that covered for you,” you nodded with a slight smile, making your way to the boot of the car. The elderly driver helped you drag out your luggage, and once it was all gathered, you shook his hand and said thank you, “My pleasure, the Heelshire’s are preoccupied at the moment, they asked if you could wait in the foyer,” he said and you nodded in compliance before thanking him again.</p><p>After dragging your luggage up the staircase, you cautiously opened up the main doors to be greeted by a large, empty room. The first thing you noticed was the staircase directly in front of you that lead up throughout each floor, along with the finely embellished walls and flooring. You heard the house settle into itself, which made you question just how old the house truly is. You stood there patiently, hands clasped behind your back as you waited for the Heelshire’s appearance. The general decor of the household gave you the creeps, if Sherlock’s unwarranted appearance inside a hotel room scared you half to death, you can’t imagine what imaginary shadows you might encounter. </p><p>After giving yourself goosebumps, you sought out your phone as a way to distract your overactive mind, only to find your assumption correct; there was no signal at all in this house. “Landline it is..”, you whispered to yourself, looking up only to find Mrs Heelshire making her way into the foyer from the staircase. “I do hope you won’t be too distracted by your… technology, while you’re on the clock,” Mrs Heelshire said with a snide smile. “Oh, of course not Mrs Heelshire,” you responded, slightly taken aback by her sudden appearance. Tucking your phone into your back pocket, you held out your hand, “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs Heelshire,” you greeted as she took your hand, shaking it gently. “Likewise. If you can come with me, we will introduce you to our darling son, Brahms,” she said as she gestured towards what appeared to be the living area. </p><p>No matter how much research you could’ve done on the family, nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight you were about to witness. Walking in tow with Mrs Heelshire, you saw Mr Heelshire whispering to a small being that was seated in a rather stiff, but well decorated chair. As you neared closer, Mrs Heelshire said, “Say hello to Brahms.” Mr Heelshire stood up from his knelt position, facing you as you came face to face with their porcelain-replacement of Brahms. It’s eyes pierced through you, it’s skin porcelain white. With his hair combed to the side, he was dressed in dapper clothing. While you might’ve tried to be mentally prepared, you couldn’t help but let a bit of your shock escape onto your facial expression. The Heelshire’s glanced at each other, fearful that you should turn back around and leave the mansion. To save face, you made your way to Brahms, kneeling down and placing your hand on his shoulder, “Hello Brahms,” you told him your name, “I do hope that we can get along,” you said with a smile, before looking up at the Heelshire’s satisfied expressions. </p><p>Once introductions were finished, Mrs Heelshire took you through Brahms’ daily routine, from when he wakes up, to his favourite pastimes. Having experienced it yourself, you had come to the conclusion that the rumors were true, your ears still slightly ringing as you made your way into the dining area. After lunch was finished, you brought the dinnerware into the kitchen, to where you were confirmed about the rumors of them freezing their food, rather than throwing it away, to which you slightly raised an eyebrow in suspicion before being passed onto Mr Heelshire for garden responsibilities. </p><p>“We do our best, to keep up the house,” he said as he picked up one of the traps, “Oh by the way, we don’t use the fireplaces anymore, bit of a hazard,” you nodded in understanding as another rumor was revealed to be true. You opened the black trash bag for him, “..and regrettably, the last tradesman we had actually,” he chuckled as he opened the trap, “He managed to paint the windows shut,” he said as he lifted the dead rat by the tail, dropping it into the trash bag, “Now personally I don’t think that all of this is necessary but, Mrs Heelshire is convinced that the rats will get into the walls,” he grunted as he placed the trap in its original spot, “..and Brahms of course, he’s never been very fond of animals, he’s always been very shy, you see… very timid,” he said as you continued to walk down the path. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand as you noticed from the very corner of your eye, that Mrs Heelshire was watching you two from the window above.</p><p>“I know how this must look to you, and to be completely honest I’m not sure how it all came to this,” he paused his forward movement to look directly at you, “Little by little, then.. All at once, I suppose,” he gave you a stern, but slightly worried look, “What I’m trying to say is, that whatever it may look like on the outside..”, his eyes bore into you, similarly to how their porcelain son looks at the world, “Our son is here. He’s very much with us, do you understand..?”, he said gently. For some reason, that specific statement made your heart drop to your stomach. Looking at you expectantly, all you could muster was, “Yes, of course,” while nodding. “Good! Oh good, that’s very good,” Mr Heelshire lit up at your response, and you let go of your tightened breath. You both continued the trail, as you noticed Mrs. Heelshire walk away from the window. </p><p>After it turned 9pm, the Heelshire’s were putting their son to bed. As you made your way down the elongated hallway, you heard the Heelshire’s speak some sort of cantation at the edge of the porcelain boy’s bed in unison. Quietly stepping closer to the door frame, you listened; “..God bless Mummy, god bless Daddy, god bless…”, you felt a shiver go up your spine as you heard your name included in their prayer, “..God bless me. Amen.” they both finished. As Mrs Heelshire gave Brahms praise for his good behavior, Mr Heelshire noticed your presence and alerted Mrs Heelshire. “Could you give us a moment alone to speak to Brahms privately?”, she said in her usual stern voice as Mr Heelshire stood up to close the door. “Oh, of course,” you said, wringing your hands together out of awkward habit while stepping back, giving them space. As you waited patiently for them to have a conversation with their ‘son’, you couldn’t help but notice a high pitched voice, higher than Mrs Heelshire’s. You shivered, but shook it off, assuming it’s the mother acting out as her son for the sake of coping. The entire situation was weird, but you knew you had to stick it through for the case. Once they finished speaking to their son, the door swung back open as the pair walked out, their expressions rather solemn. </p><p>“He wants you. He’s chosen you, if you’ll have him,” she said, before reaching out for a very tense hug. You felt like you couldn’t put any pressure on her, out of fear of her breaking. Pulling back out of the hug, you oddly felt elated that you were accepted as their nanny. This is what you and Sherlock set out for, after all. You lightly smiled back at the parents in confirmation, that you’re willing to take care of their son. Once everything was settled, you lugged your suitcase up the staircase into the guest room that you’ll be staying in for the meantime. After you were situated and in more comfortable clothing, aka your pyjamas, you got a hold on the telephone and rang Sherlock to update him on the current situation. As you dialed his number, you heard the house begin to settle in on itself again. It sent a shiver down your spine, but you knew it was a new aspect of the house that you had to get used to, no matter how many heebie jeebies it gave you. </p><p>The telephone rang for two seconds before Sherlock picked up, “Any new information?”, he said. From the slight chewing on his end, you could tell he was finishing the last of the digestives, “Wow! Hey, nice to hear from you too, man,” you said with a giggle before lowering your voice to a whisper, out of fear of the Heelshire’s hearing you, “Turns out all of the rumors were true…”, you enlightened Sherlock on the past events of your day. “So it’s confirmed you’ll be staying for two months, then?”, he asked. “Seems like it, try not to miss me too much,” you said sarcastically, snickering at the irritated grumble on his end. “I’m gonna head to bed,” you said as you picked at your cuticles, “You better go to bed soon too, alright?”, said sternly, like a mother scrutinising her child, “Sure. Bye,” and with that, he hung up. </p><p>Placing the telephone on the nightstand, you switch off the lamp and buried yourself in the fluffy, freshly washed duvet and drifted off to slumber.</p><p>
  
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry this was so movie-dialogue heavy, I made this chapter a bit longer to make up for it.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5 - Departing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You awoke to your phone alarm vibrating on your bedside table at exactly 7 in the morning. You grabbed it, clenching your fist around it until you put enough pressure on the side button until it ceased it’s continuous ringing. You were about to roll over and drift back to sleep, until you noticed this wasn’t your bed. Springing awake, you were reminded of the events that took place the day before, confirming that it was in fact not a dream, hearing the familiar sound of the house settling while recognizing the room you were sleeping in was in fact the same one that you unpacked your suitcase in yesterday. You rubbed your eyes harshly before whipping out of bed, making your way towards the bathroom. </p><p>You walked down the hallway, now freshly washed and dressed. You heard Mrs Heelshire verbally penalize her son for a supposed mess he had made. Looking around the corner, you found her kneeling next to Brahms, begging him to be a ‘good boy’, the two surrounded by toys that had been strewn across the floor, as if Brahms had pulled a tantrum. </p><p>You suddenly felt a presence right behind you, “I apologise for the rush, it’s been so long since we’ve been on holiday, and we’re anxious to be off,” Mr Heelshire said as you tried to catch your breath from the shock. You clutched your chest lightly as he continued walking, and you followed suit. “Besides, Brahms seems so.. so fond of you. I only wish we had, heh, an opportunity to er.. to explain to you the persistetudes of er, a child as unique as our Brahms, but ah, you… you learn to pick it up, I’m sure,” he said as he continued to walk, reaching for something from his breast pocket, “I’ve got something to er, help you along,” It was a piece of paper, with a list of 10 specific rules, “A schedule, the rules.. Mrs Heelshire, she was kind enough to write on out you see, now it may seem a bit silly, but it is important that you follow them, because Brahms is not like other children. He can be… particular,” Mr Heelshire said, the image of the porcelain boy’s face surfacing in your memories, making your neck hairs stand on end. “I’m afraid we have indulged him a bit, over the years..” he continued, walking away from the end table.</p><p>“Come along, Mummy,” Mrs Heelshire said as you both made your way down the staircase, into the foyer. “Malcolm, our grocery boy, will stop by tomorrow and every other Wednesday with food, and of course your payment.. and I’m sure that he can answer any other.. questions that you might.. that you might have, I’m sorry, I’m- I’m.. a bit off today, it’s.. It’s been so long since we’ve gone anywhere,” he said, and you gave him a sympathetic smile in response, before both of your attention was drawn to Mrs Heelshire, Brahms in hand. They both seemed so solemn together, as the father gave his son a kiss on the scalp. “Be good to him and he’ll be good to you.. be bad to him-” Mr Heelshire was cut off by Mrs Heelshire, “Oh, she will.. be good to him, won’t you dear?”, she gave you a hopeful glance. “Yes, o-of course, I’ll treat him like my own,” you responded, to the Heelshire’s delight. Mrs Heelshire gave Brahms one last kiss, before handing him over to you, to which you cautiously took. Mrs Heelshire took a step forward, leaning in next to your ear, “I’m so.. sorry,” to which your heart dropped in response to the fear in her voice. “Come along Dear, it’s time we left,” Mr Heelshire said as the two left in pursuit for the taxi that waited patiently for them. You watched from the top of the stone staircase as the taxi retreated, slowly disappearing in the distance as they left their residency. You looked down at the doll that was situated on your hip, “What the hell did you do to them, Brahms..?” you questioned, mainly to yourself as you looked down at his expressionless face in confusion, before returning back into the mansion. </p><p>Now left to your own jurisdiction inside this large, empty house, you felt on edge. The silence was deafening, so you rushed to your room, Brahms still in hand. You placed him at the edge of the bed as you pulled the corded phone on your lap, keeping an eye on the porcelain doll. Dialling Sherlock’s number, he immediately picked up once his phone began to ring. “The Heelshire’s just left the residence for a supposed holiday. They were acting unusual, d’you reckon you could get eyes on them for me?”, you asked in a sarcastically sweet tone. “I’m two steps ahead of you,” Sherlock said as he was already getting in contact with the necessary people. He was just about to hang up, satisfied with the brief but informative conversation, until he heard your voice perk up quietly. “Uhm.. so.. What’re your plans for this evening..?” you awkwardly asked, coiling the telephone’s cord around your finger like some sort of school girl. Sherlock furrowed his brows, “What on earth are you talking about, y/n?” you sighed heavily in response. “It’s so creepy here Sherlock! It’s only been a few minutes since the Heelshire’s left and the silence is absolutely sickening,” you complained, revealing your stresses all at once.</p><p>“Suck it up, buttercup,” he said, and you grumbled, dissatisfied with his response. “Don’t you have some nanny-related chores that needs completing?”, Sherlock questioned. You rolled your eyes, forgetting that he can’t see you, “Fine, I get it, Sherly wants to spend his time in his little imaginary cave,” you mocked, before holding the phone closer to your ear, “But seriously, don’t hesitate to call. I need to break the silence every now and then,” you said in a slightly desperate tone. “Alright. Bye,” he said before hanging up, leaving you alone with Brahms sitting at the edge of your bed. You’ve decided from here on out, he’s never leaving your sight. Your gut feeling told you not to trust whatever he.. no, IT is. </p><p>With Brahms in your lap, you looked down at the list Mrs Heelshire wrote out for you, and you assessed each rule. They all seemed relatively simple, although they do subject you to live quite a lonely life for the next few months of your employment. Sighing, you stared into space, trying to decide on what you wanted to do for the evening from your limited options for entertainment. “Thank god I never lost my hobby for reading,” you said to yourself, lifting Brahms into your arms as you made your way to the study.</p><p>After you’d finished reading to Brahms, and had a very one-sided conversation during dinner, it was time to put him to bed. Fastening the last button on his pyjama shirt, you tucked him into his child-sized bed. Brushing his synthetic hair away from his forehead, you gingerly gave him a kiss on the porcelain surface. You stared at him blankly. Why are you doing this? Why are you doing any of this? “Goodnight, Brahms.” you sighed, retreating to your bedroom. You started questioning why you felt so compelled to take care of Brahms, maybe it was the simple fact that he wasn’t a sentient, living child made him much easier and less-stress inducing to take care of, but regardless you still felt some sort of otherworldly connection. “Maybe there is more to you, Brahms..”, you said absent-mindedly, staring at his bedroom door.</p><p>Once you were secluded in your own room, you figured now’s a good time as any to go to bed yourself, given it was 21:00 at night. You went to retrieve the pyjamas you wore the night previously, you figured they were still fresh enough to wear a second night, only to notice you’d misplaced your pyjama top. You frowned, rummaging through your drawers and suitcase before you came to terms that it was nowhere to be found. Frustrated, you grumbled to yourself before retrieving one of your well-worn oversized t-shirts. Stripping off your work clothes, you pulled your t-shirt over your head and pulled up your pyjama shorts, swiftly turning off your bedside lamp before drifting off to bed, taking a mental note of the grocery boy that’ll be visiting tomorrow afternoon.</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6 - I Don't Like the Silence, Either</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Your Wednesday morning was just like any other morning, bar the creepy porcelain doll. You went through your normal routine of complaining about your alarm clock, a quick shower and simple skincare, getting dressed into your begrudgingly colourful clothing, and tending to Brahms. As you were buttoning up his miniature cardigan, you paused as you heard creaking coming from downstairs. It was brief, so you heeded it no mind, assuming it was the house continuing to settle in on itself. To your misbelief, Brahms’ favourite track started blaring out of the record player. You felt your heart skip a beat, abandoning Brahms on the rocking chair in a rush to grab the attic hook that conveniently rested against the wall, rushing downstairs to find the intruder. Once you cautiously made your way to the study, spear in hand with your eyes wide open, you found nothing but the recording spinning in its respective player. You strode over to it, removing the tonarm’s contact with the record, making the music come to an end. Now that the silence returned, along with your sense of hearing, you looked behind your back. You slowly backed up against the wall, not wanting an intruder attacking you behind. A bead of sweat trickled down your temple, just as you heard a slight creak coming from Brahms’ room.</p><p>You ran to the stairway, taking two steps at a time as you lunged yourself to the second floor, barging into Brahms’ room. The sight that beheld you made your heart stop. Brahms had moved from his previous spot in the rocking chair, which now stood still, and was instead sitting upright on his neatly made bed, his head facing directly at you. A ravaged piece of paper was placed next to his hand. You slowly approached him, your bison-strength grip on the attic hook hardening. You slowly picked up the paper, which was wrinkled and tattered, with what appeared to be delicate a layer of dust covering it. ‘I don’t like the silence, either.’ it read, which made your eyes somehow widen further than they already were. “Is this some sort of sick joke?” you spat in a whisper towards the doll. </p><p>Your body jerked at the sound of the doorbell, to where you sprinted towards. You pulled the front door open aggressively, only to see a mildly concerned, but still cheery Malcolm. “Malcolm…” you sighed with relief. “Erm, is everything alright there? I’m guessing you’re getting along well with Brahms?” he chuckled, gesturing to the spear in your hand. Still wide eyed, you glanced between the weapon and the man before you. “Oh? Oh! This.. um, yeah I’ll tell you in a minute,” you placed the spear next to the doorframe, walking outside, “Let me help you with these..” you said with a grunt as you picked up 2 of the 4 boxes of groceries, Malcolm following you close behind with the rest of the supplies as you both made your way to the kitchen.</p><p>“A-And then I found this,” you present Malcolm with the small letter after telling him about the events that took place before his arrival. Malcolm squinted while holding a loaf of bread, getting a read of the tiny, slightly smudged lettering. “Yeah.. Mrs Heelshire always said Brahms was a bit.. mischievous.” Malcolm responded nonchalantly, to your dismay. “To be honest, I always thought of it as a bit of.. pretend, y’know? As a way of coping?” he said as he placed the loaf inside the bread bin. “Yeah I get that but.. I’m not playing pretend with that doll.. heh, I’m not the one coping in this situation,” you laughed, thinking back on the peculiar day you were having. You sighed, looking down at the piece of paper in your hand, “.. I’m just worried, y’know? About whether there’s an intruder, or anything like that.” you said as you scratched the back of your neck, a habit you’d developed to combat your nerves. “I mean..”, Malcolm began, “..I know we’ve just become acquainted together, but if it’ll help you in any way, I’d be willing to stay in the mansion with you, for the sake of safety. Power in numbers, as they say,” he said, holding up a small but triumphant fist. “I appreciate it but.. Y’know, Brahms and his unique rules. ‘No guests’”, you said, putting quotation marks over Brahms’ first rule. </p><p>“Ah, Y/N, I’m sure that doll won’t do any harm if I extend my stay,” Malcolm said, leaning on the kitchen table. His eyes directed towards your phone that rested on the wooden surface, picking it up and handing it to you, “How about this, I’ll give you my phone number,” you took your phone out of his hand, cautiously unlocking it and handing it back, “If you need me around for any reason, all you have to do is give me a call on your landline, and I’ll be here,” he said as he added himself to your contacts. You were grateful, that’s for sure, but you were also wary about his possible underlying intentions. The two of you had only a few brief exchanges so far, after all. “Well, for now, would you like to go on a walk? Just around the garden, I’m sure Brahms would allow that,” Malcolm said with a wink and a nudge, and you couldn’t help but grin.</p><p>The both of you got to know each other during your walk, although you still kept up the facade of being an innocent city girl who became a nanny to escape the concrete jungle, but Malcolm was willing to open up to talk about his ‘iconic’ dance moves. “Honestly, once you’re finished taking care of Brahms, I’d love to take you out for a night in the town. I promise it’s more exciting at night, than it is in daytime,” he chuckled, pausing as you both came across Brahms’ gravestone. You stared at the marked stone in silence, out of respect, before asking, “What was Brahms like… y’know, the real Brahms?”</p><p>Malcolm took a deep sigh, eyes fixed on Brahms’ name on the headstone, “Well, some might say that he was a lovely lad, and that it was unfortunate that he lost his life at such a young age, especially due to a house fire… but others might say that he wasn’t such a lovely lad..” Malcolm said, reflecting on the hushed rumors he’d heard throughout the town. “Y’know, there was one night, during a delivery for the Heelshires..” Malcolm continued, drawing your attention from the gravestone to his face. “I didn’t know at the time, but it was Brahms’ birthday, or would have been. Mrs Heelshire, she was in the sitting room opening presents, with the doll, and Mr Heelshire… I found him in the room with the pool table, off his pickle,” he couldn’t help but laugh breathily through his nose. “Drunk, and you y’know, mumbling to himself, saying that ‘he couldn’t do it anymore’...” he sighed, before continuing, “I told him I’d come back, but he insisted I’d have a drink with an old man, and so I did. Couple of drinks in, chatting about the weather and so on, until I finally asked about Brahms. The real Brahms.” He paused, while you swallowed anxiously, wanting to know more. “He just… he just looked at me, with this heartbroken look. Made me sorry I even asked, and he said one word.” Malcolm looked directly into your eyes, “‘Odd’, he said. Odd. And that was it. Which I suppose is the only answer I’ll ever get,” Malcolm said as he began to walk you back towards the mansion’s entrance. </p><p>You were both standing in front of the large double doors, just as Malcolm asked, “Are you sure you’ll be alright, alone in there?” he asked, genuinely worried for your safety. “I think I’ll manage, thank you Malcolm. I’ll be sure to call you if anything happens,” you responded with a grateful smile, opening one of the large doors with a heavy creak. “Alright, if I don’t hear from you, I’ll be seeing you Wednesday,” he said, waving his hand while retreating to his car. Once you returned to the empty, silent mansion, you dug into your pockets to find the creepy note Brahms had left for you. You knew you had to call Sherlock. Striding up the stairs and into the hallway that connects to your room, you warily peeked into Brahms’ bedroom, only to find him in the same position you left him. With a relieving sigh, you stepped into your own bedroom. Picking up the telephone, you dialed Sherlocks number without hesitation. </p><p>“Sherlock, I need to send something to the forensics department. I need you to come to the mansion as soon as possible, I’ll meet you by the porch- Don’t let yourself in”, you said sternly, still slightly on edge while unloading all of your thoughts in one, drawn-together sentence. “Alright..”, Sherlock responded, frowning at your sudden tone, “I’ll be there in 20.” he said, hanging up. The following 20 minutes you spent waiting felt like 2 hours, only occupying your time by staring at Brahms from your doorframe, worried that he might reanimate himself if you were to look away. However, once you heard a hardened knock on the thick doors downstairs, you immediately abandoned your post, opting to run down the staircase. You swung the double doors open, quickly stepping outside before shutting them behind you. “I need you to send this,” you presented the note to Sherlock, “to the Scotland Yard forensic department. Can you do that for me?”, you said, slightly out of breath. Sherlock gingerly took the note, reading it with a scrutinizing expression, “‘I don’t like the silence, either’... Y/N, what is this?” He said, inspecting the back of the note, before drawing his attention to your tense posture, “Is everything alright?” </p><p>You felt a heavy weight on your shoulders as you let your body relax, having been tensed all day. You slowly walked towards the top step of the stone staircase, sitting on it with your head in your hands, Sherlock following you before sitting next to you, staring sternly at the overcast sky. The sun was beginning to settle. Lifting your head up from your hands, you said, “It’s just very creepy in there. You know what I’m like… ghosts, paranormal things. I know you call me childish for it,” you chuckled, “but I can’t help but be scared at times. Especially since Brahms gave me that letter after his favourite song started playing-”, Sherlock cut you off, “Brahms- The doll, he gave you this?”, Sherlock said, holding up the piece of paper in question with an incredulous look on his face. You couldn’t help but giggle, you always found that expression on him adorable, “What are you laughing at, you looked like you were on the brink of tears not five seconds ago,” he said, getting increasingly frustrated with your fluctuating emotions. Still giggling, you responded, “Don’t worry about it Sherlock, please. It’s just my imagination stressing me out, I’m sure we’ll find our answers if you send that off to the forensics team for inspection,” you said, feeling more at ease with Sherlock sitting with you on the porch. </p><p>“Well if that’s the case, I’m inviting myself in for the rest of your stay,” Sherlock said to your horror as he stood up gracefully from his sitting position, striding to the entryway. Just as you were registering what he’d just said, you hurriedly got to your feet as Sherlock barged into the foyer. “Sherlock, please-”, you ran up behind him, wrapping both your arms around his slim waist, lifting him off the ground and swinging him back to the doorframe of the entrance. You weren’t dependable solely for your intelligence. “You can’t stay here, the first rule Brahms had set out is that I can’t have any guests, bar Malcolm during his deliveries,” you said as Sherlock scoffed, pouting before saying, “Well just come back to the hotel, then. I doubt the damned doll will starve on his own,” he spat in return, arms crossed. “Rule number 2, never leave Brahms alone.” Just as Sherlock was about to retort your statement, you held your index finger up, “..and rule number 9, ‘Brahms is never to leave.’ Look, Sherly, I know you’re worried for me, but remember about the case. If we want things to go smoothly, we need to abide by these rules. I need to continue day by day as any other nanny would.” you said, arms crossed sternly. Sherlock stood there in silence, fists clenched at his sides in a toddler-esque stance. “At least let me survey each room,” he said as a final plea. Dropping your hands down to your waist in compliance, you sighed, “Fine.” As the word slipped by your lips, Sherlock pushed past you, on his way to peruse each room.</p><p>By the time he was finished, he strode out of your bedroom to find you waiting in the hallway, Brahms sitting securely by your hip. “Everything seems in order..” Sherlock said as he came to a stop in front of you, “You’re lucky there’s limited points of entry, considering the windows are permanently shut from some shoddy paint job,” Sherlock observed, to where you nodded, already informed of that fact. There was a silence between the both of you, before you both simultaneously began your goodbyes. “No, no, you go first,” Sherlock invited. “W-Well, I was just gonna say, y’know, it’s getting a bit late. I need to put Brahms to bed.” Sherlock glanced slightly judgmentally between you and the doll before delicately nodding. “I’ll be on my way, then. Call me if you need anything.” Sherlock said, walking past you with his hands clasped behind his back. Once you heard the front doors open and close, you peaked out the window, watching Sherlock’s figure enter the black taxi before it left the estate. </p><p>With the doll now dressed in his baby blue pyjamas, you tucked him into bed, leaning over him to give him a kiss on the forehead. “I’m sorry I didn’t read to you today, Brahms,” you whispered, brushing his synthetic, crow-black hair, “I promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” you said with a smile, before standing up and turning off the bedside lamp. Walking into your en-suite bathroom, you opted to take a warm shower to help melt away the tension in your body. After you’d finished, feeling more refreshed, you walked into your bedroom to rummage for a pair of pyjamas, only to find your bottom drawer slightly ajar. “That’s… weird.” You whispered, stalking over to it, making sure to hold your towel tight around your chest. Squatting down, you opened it. Glancing over the articles of clothing, which consisted of your socks and underwear, your heart dropped when you noticed that there was one less panty. You rooted around in the drawer, hoping you’d just missed it, but after you counted for the 5th time, you were convinced that one of your panties had gone missing. Pushing your hair out of your face, you sighed before standing up from your squatting position, choosing to get yourself fully dressed before addressing the situation. </p><p>After searching through your entire bedroom including your suitcase, you sat there, telephone in hand, hesitating to call him. Taking a deep breath, you dialed his number before placing the receiver against your ear. After two minutes passed, you heard his voice rumble on the other end, “What?” Sherlock said, clearly after being disturbed from his mind palace. “Uhm.. j-just wanted to ask… did you, perchance, take anything..? From my room, specifically, when you visited..?” you asked, wincing at the idea of accusing him of such a crime, your voice slowly getting higher in pitch the longer you spoke. “What are you talking about, Y/N? Are you missing something?” Sherlock quizzed, completely oblivious to your predicament. “Uh- sort of.. It’s nothing important, no need to worry! Goodnight Sherlock!” you said in a rush, slamming the receiver into the telephone, your blood flooding up to the back of your neck and ears. You sat at the edge of the bed, staring at nothing in particular as you attempted to steady your breathing. “It’s nothing… really, everything’s fine.. It’ll show up eventually..” you said, trying to convince yourself before placing the telephone on the nightstand, turning off the bedside lamp and rolling on your side. As you laid there, you heard the all too familiar sound of the walls settling in on themselves before drifting off to sleep.</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7 - Did You Like Breakfast?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You awoke to the sound of birds chirping right outside your window. You stirred, groaning as you slowly lifted your body up from the mattress. Rubbing your eye, you checked the time on your nearby mobile phone. “Shit..” you said under your breath, seeing that it was 11:34am. On your way to the bathroom, you noticed a small shadow partially obscuring the light under your bedroom door. Puzzled, you grabbed your nearby silk robe, wrapping it around your body before slowly approaching the door. You opened it gently, only to find a book laying on the ground, the title facing upwards. Opening the door fully, you bent down to pick it up, jumping as you looked up to see the porcelain boy sitting across the hall, back lent against the wall, wearing his normal attire. You sighed, clutching your chest before approaching the doll. “I’m sorry, Brahms.. I must’ve slept through my alarm..” you said groggily, a little perplexed as to why you were justifying your waking time to a piece of porcelain. You picked him up, boy in hand, book in the other. You quickly stopped by your bedroom to slip your comfy slippers on, before making your way to the kitchen. Placing Brahms at his usual spot by the kitchen table, you fixed yourself a quick brunch; jam on toast with sliced pears, with a side of orange juice. Sitting down next to Brahms, you sighed before you dug in. Placing the last few pieces of uneaten pear in some tupperware before throwing it in the freezer, you waltzed over to Brahms, picking him up and placing him on your hip. “What’ll it be, then? Book first, or traps?” you questioned, waiting for no response. “Traps it is…” you said, strolling back to your bedroom to get changed.</p><p>After you’d finished ridding the traps of dead rodents, you were seated on the elongated lounge sofa in the sitting room, legs resting across the couch with Brahms laying on your lap. With the book that Brahms had left in front of your bedroom door now placed in front of the two of you, you spent the rest of your afternoon and evening reading to Brahms. As you turned the page, you paused whilst looking down at Brahms’ head. Sighing gently while leaning your face on the back of his head, you questioned how you got yourself in this position. It was the normalcy of it all that perplexed you the most. Having been both scared and in denial of the paranormal existing on our plane since childhood, you only found yourself feeling pity at the possibility of the doll being possessed by the late Brahms. The idea of his spirit existing under these conditions for 20 years made you solemn, wanting to give the boy comfort through the usual daily routines. Besides.. “You would never hurt me, right Brahms?” you questioned the doll. You almost began to hope you’d hear an answer, but expectedly, you were met with silence. “I’ll be here for you, Brahms.” you whispered, before continuing reading aloud.</p><p>Proceeding your dinner time with the boy, you put him through his usual bedtime routine, consisting of his pyjamas and a goodnight kiss. Closing his bedroom door behind you, you found the attic hook leaning on the wall, back where you’d previously picked it up out of fear of an intruder. Delicately picking it up, you looked towards the ceiling to find the attic hatch. “I suppose I should rummage around a bit, for Sherlock’s sake,” you mumbled, latching the hook onto the handle. You gave it a hard pull, but the hatch refused to budge. Groaning, you pulled all of your body weight onto the handle until you heard a click, gasping as the attic ladder aggressively fell to the floor. You swallowed, staring up at the dark void where the ladder ascended to, before rushing to your bedroom to pick up your phone. You unlocked the screen to check it’s percentage, to find that it was at 87%. “Perfect,” you said under your breath, making your way back to the ladder with the attic hook in hand. Once you’d climbed up, your head peeking into the dusty attic, you turned on your phone’s flashlight before fully stepping into the dim room. Taking in your surroundings, you got a chill up your spine as the shadows continued to play pranks on you. It didn’t help that it was 21:23 at night, allowing for no natural sunlight. You continued walking through in search of a lightswitch, until your face came in contact with a swinging metal pull. Instinctively, you pulled on it to find a small bulb flash on directly above you. Although it didn’t fully cure your paranoia, the extra light certainly helped. Looking down below, you found a few fully-packed cardboard boxes. Rummaging through them, you came across a photobook. Kneeling down, settling your phone on top of one of the boxes, you began to flick through the pages. There were family photos, including a young boy. “That must be you, Brahms..” you whispered to yourself, flicking the page over to find a young Brahms with a golden-haired girl. Picking the photo out of the frame, you said “..and you must be,” turning the photo to see the back, “Emily Cribbs…” You stared at the photo again before returning it to it’s frame, closing the photobook and hoisting it under your arm, turning off the lightbulb above you. You quickly scampered through the attic, phone flashlight in one hand, spear in the other. You made your way down the ladder in a hurry, not wanting to overdo your stay in the secluded area. Placing the hook back against the wall, you accidentally bumped the ladder, which sent it violently retracting into itself. “Well.. I won’t be going back in there any time soon.” you said, clutching the photobook tightly to your chest. In your room, you placed the book on your dresser, and went through your nightly routine until you were fast asleep in bed.</p><p>You awoke the next morning, hugging one of the large pillows close to your body, a small line of saliva connected to it from your mouth. Lifting your head while wiping the spit away, you reached for your phone. “Ten o’ five?” you questioned yourself before lazily lumping onto your back, being absorbed into the comfort of the mattress. Unlocking your phone screen, you checked your daily alarms to find that they’d all been switched off. “What the hell..?” you grumbled, still half asleep as you flicked them all back on. “For god’s sake..” you groaned, sitting up in order to get your day started. As you were buttoning up the top of your shirt, while slipping your shoes on, you noticed another slightly larger shadow under your bedroom door. Once you’d gotten your left shoe on properly, you hesitated to open the door. Opening it, you found a tray with “Jam on toast and a sliced pear..?” you said your thoughts aloud, bending down to inspect the food. The pear was perfectly sliced into even slivers, small toothpicks lodged in the middle of each slice, accompanied with impeccably toasted bread, evenly coated with a layer or butter and strawberry jam, the crust removed. You began to giggle, looking towards Brahms’ bedroom to find him sitting up straight in his bed, waiting patiently. “What in the-” you laughed at the absurdity, picking up the tray by it’s handles. “I’ll be one moment!” you whispered quickly to Brahms as you scurried to the dining area, to where you found a lone glass of freshly squeezed orange juice at the end of the table. While in the back of your head you were terrified, in fact you felt like you were going insane, but you couldn’t help but giggle at the kind gesture. Placing the tray of food on the table, you put your hand to your mouth as you processed what just happened. With a small chuckle, you made your way back upstairs to collect Brahms to have him join you for breakfast.</p><p>Biting into the toast, you were satisfied by the crunch, along with the sweet taste of strawberry. Sighing, you rested your cheek on your hand as you ate, glancing over at the emotionless boy sitting across from you. “Did you..” you squinted, “Did you turn off my alarms? The ones on my phone, so I could sleep in?” you interrogated, before softly laughing to yourself while shaking your head. “I don’t know why I ask you these things, it’s not like you can answer me.” you said nonchalantly, staring outside the window towards a rather clear, sunny day. Just as you took another bite of the toast, you heard the telephone ring from upstairs. Reluctantly, you abandoned your breakfast as you strode towards your bedroom, half-eaten slice of toast in hand. Gripping the receiver, you brought it up to your ear, “What’s up, Sherly?” you said, but all you got was silence until you heard a faint breath before the call hung up. Pulling the receiver away from your ear, you stared at it in confusion as your hairs stood on end, feeling unnerved by the weird call. Just as you placed the receiver back on the telephone, it rang again. You picked it up swiftly, “Hello?” you said sternly, getting frustrated at the current scenario. “....Y/N..?” all of the colour drained from your face as you heard the voice of a young boy say your name. Dropping the unfinished piece of toast on the floor, you gripped the receiver with both hands. “Brahms..?” you said as you began to sweat, your eyes jerking all across the room. You felt like you were being swallowed whole by your bedroom. “...did you like breakfast, Y/N?” Brahms said, his tone innocent and young. “Y-Yes Brahms, I did.. H-how did you-” “Let’s read The Catcher in the Rye today, Y/N. I like that book.” he continued. “Yes Brahms, o-of course..” you stuttered, hearing only elongated beeping on your end after Brahms’ spirit had hung up. Shakily placing the receiver in its place, you slowly sat down on the plush edge of your bed, catching your breath as you tried to slow the fast pace of your beating heart. When your legs no longer felt like jelly, you stood up, continuing with your breathing method as you made your way downstairs.</p><p>Once you found yourself outside the entryway to the dining area, you hesitantly entered only to find Brahms in the same position that you’d left him, breakfast completely untouched. As much as you enjoyed it, your appetite was long gone. Picking up Brahms from his chair, you walked him over to the sitting room, gently placing him on the sofa. You felt uneasy having your back turned on him, but luckily you found the book he requested in a short amount of time. Attempting to get comfortable with Brahms on your lap, you began to read to him. Throughout the time you spent reading to him, you kept on finding yourself getting distracted, you mind running a mile a minute. With a frustrated sigh, you shut the book and tossed it to the side. Turning Brahms around on your lap, you looked into his inexpressive, glossy eyes. You frowned, “Brahms… I need to know what happened to you. All those years ago.” you whispered, brushing away loose strands of synthetic hair. “I need to know.. My time here, it’s limited. Y/N’s gotta go back to real work at some point,” you said, unexpectedly tearing up, beginning to get emotional just thinking about the poor lost soul that’s been stuck in this mansion for so long. “I just need to know, so I can help you in any way to move on..” you said, bashful tears running down your face as you hugged the doll close to your body.</p><p>You began to feel ridiculous for your emotional state, you knew Sherlock would be disappointed in you if he saw you like this, but soon after you heard a large clang, along with loud screeching, as if something was being pulled away. Your heart began racing, you had no clue as to what was occurring within the large mansion. Instinctively, you hid behind the sofa with the doll being clutched closely in your arms, the banging amongst the walls continuing as they began to get louder in volume. You clenched your eyes shut, fearful as to what would happen next. The loud pounding came to a quick halt, but you still refused to open your eyes. You waited a few minutes in silence before cautiously opening your eyes. You peaked around the side of the couch, your heart dropping to your stomach as you found that a secret hatch in the dark brown walls had been opened. You slowly stood up, abandoning the doll on the floor, the pace of your breath quickening. “Y/N?”, you heard a familiar voice say from the dark void inside the wall, and you instinctively clasped your hand over your mouth, your body frozen in place. “Y/N?”, you heard your name being called for a second time, and you released your mouth from your palm in an attempt to find your voice. “Y-Yes, Brahms..?”, you replied back. He was silent for a minute, before you saw a large, dirty hand reach out from the opening, the rest of his body following, your eyes widening as you saw his masked face. He stood there, his intimidating 6 foot 3 stance tense, unsure of how you’d react in this current situation. He was fully expecting you to run away in fear, preparing himself for a chase, but all you did was stand your ground, looking right back at him. Your brain was going 90 miles a minute, addressing all the clues that were presented before you. The note, the book, the breakfast, the <em>phonecall.</em> All leading up to one conclusion; Brahms never died. He was standing right in front of you, a dirtied grown man who stood on edge like an animal trapped in a corner. </p><p>Unexpectedly, you found yourself getting choked up, your palm still tightly wrapped around your mouth as you steadily approached closer to Brahms, one hand outwards to show you meant no harm. Although you were terrified to your core, seeing his as his tall, muscular figure could overpower you at any moment, you were also upset, knowing he was locked up behind these walls for so long, and you instinctively knew that his very own parents knew, unintentionally keeping him prisoner in his own home. Standing in front of him, his posture hunched and pathetic, you looked directly into his wide, piercing eyes with your sympathetic ones. “Oh Brahms..” he slowly buckled down to his knees, as if to admit submittance, while his sooty hands grasped the sides of your arms. “What on earth have they done to you..?” you whispered gently, your hands softly clasping the sides of his masked face before pulling him into a hug.</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8 - Cleanse the Body to Cleanse the Soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You stood there, Brahms’ head pressed against your torso, breath hitched as you tenderly pet his head. You could tell he was scared, slightly trembling like a lost puppy in his current position. You found yourself zoning out, almost dissociating while staring out the large window towards the sunny sky. The reveal of Brahms' true identity had admittedly thrown a spanner in the works, and for now you knew you had to ensure that this new discovery was handled with care. Assessing the current situation, you began breathing through your mouth while internally closing your nostrils, the scent of an unwashed man becoming too powerful for your nose to handle. You looked down at his greasy, matted hair, coming to terms with the first step you both had to take for Brahms' recovery. Kneeling down to his level, his grip on your arms unrelenting, you clasped his face delicately with both of your hands, feeling the unkempt beard that seeped out under his dirtied mask, “Brahms,” you said gently, “We need to get you washed up, is that okay?” you stared reassuringly into his eyes, which were still blown wide at the current situation. Has it really been 20 years since he’d seen anyone other than his parents this close up? Glancing back and forth between your eyes, he took a deep breath before slowly nodding.</p><p>Standing up, Brahms soon followed. Although his posture was slightly hunched, he still towered over you. You still weren’t sure whether he intended to appear intimidating or not, but you prayed it was the latter. Gently taking him by the hand, you took him upstairs to one of the larger-sized bathrooms. Leaving the door ajar, you began running a bath for him, making sure the water was the perfect temperature. He just stood there, staring from the back corner of the room. Slightly unnerved, you eventually filled the tub with steaming water, not too hot but certainly not too cold. You stood firmly in front of Brahms, heart still palpitating at the current predicament, “Brahms, I’ll need you to wait here while I fetch you some towels and clean clothes, can you do that for me?” you said in a stern tone. You don’t know why you felt the need to talk to him in such a simple yet stern matter, you were worried he wasn’t fully mentally there, so you wanted to be as precise as possible when talking to him. He simply nodded, opting not to speak. Maybe he was selectively mute? You exited the bathroom, taking a deep breath before entering your en suite to find a fresh set of towels.</p><p>After you’d gathered towels for Brahms, you found yourself standing in the Heelshire’s main bedroom. Searching the area, you found an entrance that led into what seemed to be a walk-in wardrobe, the right side dedicated to Mr Heelshire’s clothing. After spending a minute rummaging through his clothes, you fished out a clean eggshell-white dress shirt, along with some black slacks. You later found a fresh pair of socks and underwear. Lastly you picked up a pair of dress shoes, hoping that they’d fit. After gathering and folding a fresh set of clothes for Brahms, you waltzed back to the bathroom that you’d left him in. To your relief, he was in the exact same spot you last saw him, hands clasped behind his back. Instinctively, your nose scrunched after being reintroduced to his stench. If you were to help him, you needed to get him in that bath, fast. “Now Brahms,” you placed the folded clothes and towels respectively on the toilet lid, before facing him, “I’m going to assume you know how to bathe yourself,” you said as you put your hands on your hips to no response, “...then I’ll leave you to it..” you said as you marched towards the door. Just as you were about to exit, you felt his vice grip around your wrist. Your ears and cheeks flushed, you had your underlying suspicion that you knew this would happen, but you were praying it wouldn’t. Looking back at Brahms with wide eyes, he looked back at yours with a more relaxed expression. “Brahms..” you said in a whisper, before he lifted his index finger at his hair, “Just this!”, he said with the childish voice that you first heard over the landline, “...please.” he begged. You sighed heavily, giving in to his plea as you stepped back inside, closing the bathroom door behind you.</p><p>You continued to face the door, your entire neck now flushed in embarrassment, “I need you to get undressed and into the tub, Brahms'' you said in a hushed tone. As you saw him leave your line of sight, you heard the sound of his suspenders dropping to the ground along with the rest of his clothes, shortly followed by the sloshing of water, recognising that he’d stepped into the bathtub. Slowly you turned 180 degrees from your position to find every part of him submerged, bar his upper chest and shoulders, along with his knees which were exposed due to his height. The rest of your face heated up, no matter how many years you spent in the police force, the naked form of a living, breathing human being had always been your kryptonite. Looking at his face, you noted that he didn’t remove his mask, which made you feel slightly disturbed by the creepy exterior. Picking up a nearby bottle of shampoo, you walked to the back of the tub and knelt behind where Brahms’ head was situated. You rolled up your sleeves, and from that position you got a full view of the true width of his shoulders. Although you were strong, it was evident he was stronger. You were lucky he hadn’t used that power against you, or at least not yet. “Alright, Brahms. I’m gonna wet your hair so I can clean it, alright?”, to which he responded with a nod. Determined, you said “I’ll need you to say I can clean your hair verbally, can you do that for me Brahms?” you kept your tone precise and clear. “...Yes. You can wash it.” he said, his voice strained due to him keeping it at a high octave. You sighed, you knew you’d have to have a conversation with him later about his tone of voice, but for now you scooped up the bath water into your hands, pouring it over his dark curly locks, cautious not to let it dribble down to the front of his mask.</p><p>After you’d sufficiently dampened his hair, you squeezed a dollop of shampoo into the palm of your hand, mushing it together between both your hands before massaging it into his scalp. You felt the knots in his hair delicately undo themselves, and as you ran the tips of your fingers over his scalp, you felt Brahms relax into your hold, his shoulders resting against the edge of the basin. You heard him sigh, subtly revealing the true pitch of his voice. You continued this for the next few minutes in silence, before you drew your hands away from his head. Washing off the excess shampoo from your hands in the bathwater, which was now a murky grey colour as the soot and grime had been washed away from his skin, you began pouring the water over his now clean hair, rinsing it of shampoo. Once you finished, you slapped the edge of the bath, pushing yourself up as you felt your knees ache from your previous position. Drying your hands on a nearby hand towel, you began rolling your sleeves down as you said, “Okay Brahms, there’s two clean towels and a fresh set of clothes for you to get dressed in,” you bent down and picked up the clothing he’d clearly worn for a long time, “I’ll have these washed in the washing machine, okay?” you said with a reassuring smile, but all you saw were his unblinking eyes. “Alright.. You get out of that bath soon, okay? I’ll check up on you after I put these away,” and with that, you left him alone in the bathroom. Just as you closed the door, you heard Brahms say “Y/N!”, his voice broke in urgency, “...wait for me.” You stood outside the door, staring blankly at the wooden exterior. “Okay, I’ll be right here, Brahms.” you replied, eyes squinting at the intense smell of mothballs and sweat coming from the unwashed clothes. You took note of his abandonment issues, and you’ll have to gauge the severity of it eventually, but for now you’ll have to reassure him that you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. You weren’t willing to leave him behind in his current state.</p><p>You listened in once you heard the bath water splash against itself again, before hearing his heavy footsteps on the tiled floor. You could hear him fumbling, basically throwing himself together in desperation to be by your side again. After he opened the door, you were greeted to a messily put together Brahms; his hair still sopping wet, his shirt half tucked in and partially buttoned up, exposing his chest hair. He hadn’t even put his shoes on, and were instead dangling by his right middle and index fingers. You sighed, raising your brows at him sardonically before smirking, budging right past him as you dropped his dirty clothing on the damp floor. Rolling one of your sleeves back up, you unplugged the bath drain, letting the water exit the tub. Turning to the two towels that were haphazardly strewn across the floor, you picked up the smaller of the two, before gesturing Brahms to the closed toilet, “Sit.” He did as he was told, placing the pair of shoes on the floor next to his feet. You swung the towel over his head, and as you began drying his curly hair, you felt his hand reach up to his mask in an attempt to prevent it from shifting. You took note of his desire to hide his face. Once his hair was no longer dripping with water, you threw the damp towel on the pile of old clothes. You gestured him to stand up with your index finger, and he did so. “You’re a grown man, Brahms,” you said as you buttoned up his shirt, leaving only the first two open to accommodate breathing space for his thick neck, “I shouldn’t have to dress you like this,” you said with a slight chuckle to show you weren’t truly mad at him, before properly tucking his shirt in. As you did so, his body slightly jerked, your eyes widening at the realisation of your unintentional action. “Oh, I’m sorry Brahms- Did I make you uncomfor-” “No, it’s fine. Don’t.. Don’t worry about it,” he responded, his voice raspy in an attempt to keep it high in pitch. That aspect of him still gave you the heebie jeebies. You noticed his slightly pointed ears were burnt a light pink, which in turn made the back of your neck flush at the awkward situation you were both in. “Well, I suppose now’s a good time for you to check if those shoes fit,” you suggested to Brahms before bending down to pick up the dirty clothes and towels behind you. He hesitated briefly, before sitting on the toilet seat, slipping on one of the black dress shoes. Once he had his foot inside, he wiggled his toes to assess the space he had in them before nodding at you in affirmation, putting the other shoe on. Having both shoes on, he looked at you expectedly, but you only responded with an eyebrow lift, “Please tell me they taught you how to tie your laces,” you said begrudgingly. “N-No they.. They did, don’t worry,” he said as he sprung to action, tying his laces. You frowned, but soon after your face heated up as you recognised that he was using his real voice for once. After he'd finally put himself together, you nodded your head towards the open bathroom door, “C’mon then, let's get these cleaned,” you said, dirty laundry in hand as you waltzed out of the bathroom, Brahms following close behind.</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9 - Bedtime for Brahms</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Turning on the washing machine, you watched it fill up with water as the clothes inside began to spin in a repetitive circular motion. Normally, you would enjoy watching the mesmerising display of the washing process, but your hairs stood on end as you felt Brahms’ eyes burn the back of your neck, the air thick with tension as he refused to draw his line of sight away from you, as if you’d disappear into thin air if he did so much as blink. “Well-,” you broke the silence, turning around to face Brahms with a triumphant smile, hiding your underlying fear, “Are you hungry then, Brahms?” you asked.</p><p>You soon found both of yourselves in the kitchen. Opening the fridge, you peered inside, piecing together a meal for two. “Anything pick your fancy…” you asked as you turned around, fully expecting him to be right behind you. Glancing around, you half-closed the fridge to find Brahms mid-picking up one of the plastic containers from the freezer. Frozen in place, you saw the gears turning in his eyes before he let out a little, “Oh!”, dropping the tupperware into the freezer and shutting it. He made his way over to your side while fidgeting with his shirt sleeve, “You’ll be.. cooking for me, Y/N?” he questioned, his voice still high pitched, which made you wince. “Yes Brahms, it’s what nannies do-” “Do you.. Do you not like my voice, Y/N..?” he said solemnly, cutting your sentence short. You sighed, looking at the ground as you chose your next words carefully. “I like it when you use your real voice, Brahms. Your grown voice,” you said, looking directly into his eyes with determination. You saw his eyes widen, before relaxing with a nod. “Of course. That’s alright, Y/N. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy here,” Brahms said in his normal, gentle voice in a moment of deep brevity. Your face burned up as you soon realised that Brahms had you cornered in the fridge, his build towering over you. “A-Alright Brahms, thank you. Uhm..” you said, turning around to face the contents of the fridge. “So, as I was saying, is there anything specific you’d like for dinner?”</p><p>Although it was a Friday night, Brahms requested a Sunday roast. “I enjoy it from frozen, so I can only imagine how much I’d enjoy it freshly made,” he explained. After you passed the hurdle that was Brahms’ childish tone, you noticed that he was much more talkative now that he was using his real voice. He asked many questions about your cooking process, and even helped in gathering spices and utensils for you to use during the activity. Once food was ready and you were both seated at the dining room table, and you genuinely found it refreshing to eat with a living being, instead of a doll. “So- what kind of things do you enjoy, Y/N? Other than reading, of course,” Brahms asked innocently. You paused, trying to think of what you do when you’re not working. Watching as a piece of creamy potato disappeared under his mask, you answered, “I like watching television, it helps me relax.” He nodded, satisfied with your answer, “Mummy never bought one for the house, so I can’t imagine what kind of shows are out there.” Looking down at your own dinner plate, you took note of the fact that Brahms knew of the workings of the outside world, but never got to experience it himself. Reminding yourself of how his parents imprisoned him, you blood began to boil.  “Maybe I’ll get to show you sometime soon,” you said with a kind smile, sucking in air between your teeth as you changed the subject, “Would.. Would you mind reading to me tonight, for a change?” you said, slightly bashful. If you were to be brutally honest with yourself, you found his voice comforting. It wasn’t a rich baritone, but it still had a smoothness to it, similar to caramel. He perked up at this, “Of course, I’d love to read to you Y/N. It’d be a privilege,” he said, his voice becoming much chipper in knowing the evening’s events. </p><p>With dinner out of the way, the dishes now sitting by the sink, you were both situated in the sitting room. With music lightly playing in the background from a nearby record player, Brahms was currently searching through his dominating book collection. You could only dream of owning a collection as large as his. You watched from your position on the couch, glass of wine in hand with your legs tucked up to your torso. You couldn't help but stare at the center of where his shoulder blades were positioned on his broad back, watching as he reached for a book on one of the higher shelves. “Having read each of these more than twice, it can be hard to find one to be particularly enticing,” he said in a strained voice, grunting as he finally latched his fingertips on the book he was pursuing, catching it in his hands after it fell from the high area. Striding over to where you were seated, he sat at the other end of the couch, keeping a chivalrous distance between the two of you. Swinging one leg over the other in an oddly familiar fashion, he opened the book onto the first page and began reading. You could tell Brahms was in his element, and you couldn’t help but smile at this side of Brahms you were witnessing. Taking a small sip of your wine glass, you closed your eyes as you listened to Brahms’ sweet voice. </p><p>“Y/N...” you heard your name being called from a distance. “Y/N..” it echoed, repeating your name. “Y/N!” you felt a hand gently shake your arm, pulling you out of your dream-like state. “Ah, you’re finally awake,” Brahms said with a cheeky undertone, plucking your now empty wine glass from your hand, placing it on the side table. “It’s bedtime for you, Y/N. For both of us.” Groggily, you sat up from your slumped back position, catching a glimpse of the dark scenery outside. Without checking the time, you could tell it was most likely close to midnight. You stood up and stretched your arms, yawning much louder than you expected while nodding your head, “Alright. Bedtime, Brahms.” you said, about to continue walking before you paused. “Uh.. where do you sleep, exactly?” you questioned Brahms, who now had his doll replacement in his arms. “Um- Don’t worry about it, Y/N. I’ll be fine.” you squinted your eyes at him, that’ll be another thing that’ll have to be discussed later. “Fine, fine. Still, follow me,” you said, making your way up the staircase, Brahms following suit, as he was told.</p><p>You showed him to his parents bedroom, “I’m sure your father has a set of pyjamas that should loosely fit you,” you said, pointing towards the Heelshire’s walk-in wardrobe. Brahms nodded in response, sauntering over to its direction. “Hey.. are you sure you’ll be alright sleeping in.. where-ever it is you live in?” you questioned, causing Brahms to turn around slowly. He looked down at the floor, hesitating to answer. “There’s a, uh.. guest bedroom nearby my own room- if you’d feel better sleeping in there, where I’m close by?” you offered. You knew he didn’t want to spend too long apart from you, and subconsciously you didn’t want him to be too far away from you, either. Similarly to when you were babysitting the doll, you didn’t want him to leave your sight. He nodded, accepting your offer. “Can you help me look?.. For pyjamas, I mean,” Brahms asked, tilting his head towards the wardrobe before walking in. “Oh, sure,” you followed, joining him in the cramped room. Your ears heated when you soon realised you and Brahms were both pressed together, side-by-side. Besides bath time, this was the most contact you and him have had since he made himself present. Glancing up at him, you found him staring forwards, his own ears tinted pink. Did he.. ask you to help, so he could get physically closer to you? You shook your head at the thought, squatting down to search the lower area of the wardrobe, giving yourself breathing space. Brahms continued to search the upper area while you opened a cabinet below, finding a pair of matching baby blue pyjamas. “Ah- these should do,” you said, picking them up while standing up to face Brahms. You glanced up at him, your heart palpitating when you saw him looking down at you with his usual wide stare. He smelt.. fresh, but still had a manly musk to him. Gulping, you pressed the pyjama set to his chest, “These should do you, for tonight,” you said in a hushed tone as he took the clothes from your possession. He nodded slowly, and you stepped back out of the closet taking a deep breath as you faced away from him. “Let me show you the-” you heard a familiar sound of clothes hitting the floor, and your entire face heated up when you realised Brahms thought now would be a suitable time to get dressed. You waited patiently, eyes glued to the wooden floor panels until the rustling stopped. You turned around slowly, to find him sporting the slightly oversized pyjamas, doll clutched in his large arms. Sighing with the relief, you bent down and picked the clothes he’d strewn on the floor before saying, “Follow me then, Brahms.”</p><p>Leading into the second guest bedroom with Brahms trailing behind you, you turned around and faced him while placing your free hand on your hip. “Well.. I’ll be in my room, if you need anything.” You said, trying to break the silence. He just stood there, in front of your exit with the porcelain doll in hand. You could tell by his suddenly quiet demeanor that he wanted you to put him to bed, just like you did with the doll, but was too bashful to ask. Sighing, you marched to his bed, pulling the covers aside. “It’s time to get in bed, Brahms,” you sighed. You could feel your shoulders getting heavier with exhaustion. Today was a hectic day. You heard the pitter patter of his bare feet on the wooden floor, placing the doll on a nearby chair before treading towards his bed, sitting on the mattress as it deflated slightly under his weight. Lying back, the top of his head millimeters away from the headboard, he tucked his long, tree trunk-like legs under the covers. Pulling the duvet up to his chest, you pat his torso gently while saying, “Goodnight, Brahms.” Pulling away, you began your journey towards your bedroom, which was quickly halted by Brahms’ strong grip on your wrist. You felt your heart miss a beat, the list of Brahms’ rules flashing in your memory. “...Kiss,” Brahms said, his voice crackling as he slipped into his habit of a childish tone. Staring back at him, wide-eyed, you said in a hushed tone, “Brahms, what did I tell you about your voice?” He stared back at you, before sighing, “A kiss, please. It’s in the rules.” Your face burnt bright red at the sound of his request, his true voice rolling off his tongue like honey. Holding your breath, you slowly leaned forwards. Instinctively you held him down with your free hand, your face slowly nearing closer to his own. You tried to ignore his heavy breathing, knowing what this was doing for him, while closing your eyes shut as your mouth made contact with the mask’s red painted ones. You held it there for a second, feeling Brahms press his face as close as possible to yours in desperation to get his fill, before pulling away. “Okay Brahms,” you said, your breath shuddering as the adrenaline in your body continued to coarse through you from the current predicament, “Off to bed now, okay?” He responded quietly with a nod as you watched him close his eyes, relaxing into the comfortable mattress. </p><p>You slowly backed away from the sleeping beast, afraid to turn your back on him. Once you exited the room, you shut the door quietly, clutching your chest as you tried to regulate your breathing pattern. You quickly made your way to your own room, shutting the door behind you. Paranoid, you grabbed a nearby chair and pinned it under the door handle in hopes of having some sort of protection, before looking around your room. You stared at yourself in the nearby mirror, grounding yourself while processing what you’d just experienced. You were scared, that’s for sure, but you found your heart beating for a different reason. You glanced down at the clothes he’d abandoned for his pyjamas that were now in your arms, and slowly lowered your face into the clean white shirt. You inhaled, finding yourself relaxing at his scent. It was deep, rich and manly, but it had a subtle sweet undertone to it that you found almost euphoric. Your mind forced you to come to the embarrassing realisation of what you were doing, and you dropped his clothing before striding to the bathroom. You splashed your face with cold water in hopes of cooling down your hot skin. Gripping the edge of the sink basin, you deeply sighed before waltzing back into your room. Checking the time, you realised it was 20 minutes to 1am. Opting to showering in the morning, you threw on your own pyjamas and hopped into bed. Before turning off your nearby lamp, you glanced at the telephone. You frowned, dealing with your inner conflict. You wanted to inform Sherlock on your current quandary, but you also knew that if you did, Sherlock would soon after burst through those front doors, probably along with a squad of police officers, which would undoubtedly end badly for Brahms. From what information you’d gathered thus far, Brahms hadn’t done anything wrong. Yes, he seemed a bit unhinged, but that was not by his own doing. The death behind Emily Cribbs was still unknown, although the locals had come to the conclusion that it was the supposedly late Brahms that had murdered her, but you still had your doubts. Sighing, you rubbed your eyes roughly before harshly turning off your lamp, rolling over and quickly falling asleep.</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10 - Spring Cleaning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You jerked awake, your phone alarm disturbing your slumber. Turning off your alarm, you slowly lifted your head off your pillow while rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You stared out into space, your mind catching itself up to speed on last night’s events. Your eyes widened once everything in your brain clicked in place, throwing the duvet wildly off your body while grasping for your silken robe, abandoning your slippers altogether as you rushed to Brahms’ bedroom. As you expected, to your dismay, Brahms was nowhere to be seen. His duvet was left disheveled, his doll missing. The hairs on the back of your neck stood, your nerves firing up. You felt like he was everywhere at once, while being nowhere at all. It made you fully realise how much you didn’t understand about his world behind the walls, along with it’s secrets. Sprinting down the staircase, your soft bare feet pattering across the varnished flooring, your first instinct was to check the study, only to find it empty. Sitting room? Empty. Dining room? No sign of life at all.</p><p>Walking through the dining room led to the kitchen where, to your relief, you found Brahms’ broad shoulders facing away from you, preoccupied with the kettle. You took notice of how the Saturday morning sun rays reflected on his dark, curly hair. It looked.. soft. Sensing your tense presence, Brahms casually turned around, his mask ever-present. “Oh, blast it. I forgot to turn off your alarms again,” he said with a light chuckle, just as two slices of golden brown bread popped out of the toaster. “Please, sit. I’ll only be a moment,” he said as he began cutting the crust off the slices of toast. Your heart fluttered when you realised, he was making you breakfast again. You sat down on the wooden chair next to the kitchen table, tucking your feet up to your chest to keep your bare feet off the cool tile. Soon after, he served you perfectly cut and spread strawberry jam toast, with a side of earl grey tea. “You’ll have to request Malcolm to bring more pears, next Wednesday,” Brahms said, still standing. You glanced up at him, the view uncanny. He stood there, a robe, whom you presumed belonged to his father, draped over his shoulders with his own warm cup of tea in hand. You frowned, slightly smirking in disbelief as you saw the similarities between Brahms and the one and only consulting detective. Shaking your head at your own ridiculous thoughts, you said “Thanks Brahms, this means a lot. Although, isn’t this my job?” you questioned lightheartedly. He shrugged, sitting down in a chair nearby, “Consider it paying you back, for tolerating my.. specifications,” he said rather sheepishly, smoothing his free hand over his clothed thigh. Both of you glanced at his own cup of tea, while you sipped from your own. He stared at it momentarily, placing it on the kitchen table before standing up to open the cutlery drawer, pulling out a reusable straw. You couldn’t help but giggle at his particular predicament as he dropped the straw in his cup of tea.</p><p>Watching him sip from the straw connecting to his cup of tea, the question pertaining to his mask popped up. Just as you were about to toss the question aside in your mind, not wanting to ruin the wholesome moment, Brahms himself brought it up, “I know you must be wondering why I, um.. why I wear this,” he said, index finger directed towards the cracked mask, “Some things I prefer to keep hidden. At least, initially.” he explained, and you nodded understandably. You wouldn’t be surprised if he endured burn scars on his face, considering his unfortunate childhood. Sitting there in silence, swallowing a piece of toast, you asked “Is there anything else you’d be willing to show me? Maybe…” you glanced off to the side, “Maybe you could show me where you live? Like- as in where you really live,” you said, head tilting towards the wall next to you. Brahms’ eyes followed the direction of where you were suggesting, hesitating as he tried to find the words to explain what was going through his mind at that very moment, while scratching the back of his neck. “Uhm, well.. M-maybe if you gave me just a minute to-”, Brahms said while standing up, suddenly in a rush to go somewhere. To his room, you presumed. Quickly, you had your own vice grip on his robe sleeve, and with a smirk you tutted, “Ah ah ah, Brahms. I don’t want you cleaning your room just because you’ll be having a guest over,” you said, lightly taunting him. Quickly finishing your last slice of toast, you pulled him away from his position by the door frame, “I want to see what your natural habitat really looks like,” you said, your hands gripping both his arms in a firm but assuring manner, “If I get to see what it truly looks like, it’ll be one step forward to me help you improve, Brahms.” you said, the look in your eyes showing him that all you wanted to do was help him. He clenched his jaw, his ears burning bright red. Admitting defeat, he nodded with permission to let you see his room. You triumphantly patted his left arm, “Great! But first, let me put the dishes away and then we can get you your clean clothes from the tumble dryer, does that sound good?” He simply responded with a quiet nod.</p><p>With the both of you now fully dressed, Brahms now wearing his favourite green cardigan again, this time buttoned up with a dress shirt underneath, you both stood in front of one of Brahms’ many secret entry points into the maze that was the walls. He first ducked inside, hand reaching out from inside the wall for you to take. You grasped onto it delicately, his large hand enveloping your own before pulling you inside. “Please stay by my side, it’s quite dark and it can get confusing at times,” he said, his grip on your hand tightening. Your adrenaline started coursing through you, did you truly know what you were getting into? He began guiding you through the winding walls, looking back at you every now and then to check if you were alright. You started coughing every now and then as the dust throughout the walls got kicked up by your excursion, no wonder he was so filthy the first time you met him. Coming to a stop, you were both facing what appeared to be a hidden door. Before opening it, Brahms hesitated. Even in the severely dim lighting, you could tell his entire neck was flushed with embarrassment. “Just-”, he sighed, “Just please don’t get mad at me,” he said, his voice slightly warbling out of nervousness before opening the flimsy door. His bedroom was certainly a mess, that’s for sure. Scoping out the entire room in awe, you started taking each detail in. He had a makeshift bathroom in the left corner, on the right he had some sort of kitchen, which was overrun with plates and dusty cans, some still full, others completely empty. You found a few of the empty containers you used to put leftover food in. Looking at the cabinets and shelving units, you found a large collection of dusty nic nacs and taxidermied animals, along with the porcelain boy sitting next to an owl. You looked at the walls upstairs, which were covered in egg cartons, which you assumed was used for noise cancellation. You saw a large collection of books under the wooden staircase, along with a small kitchen table with a lone chair. Next to it stood Brahms, who was planted still in place. From what you could see, he was standing in front of where he studied and slept. </p><p>Raising a brow, you smirked, “Hiding something?” he kept quiet, only shaking his head. “Brahms..” you said firmly, marching over to where he stood, trying to get a glance behind him, but instead he just blocked your view no matter what you did. You could tell he was particularly bashful about this area, his entire neck and ears a bright red, which only made you more curious. “For god’s sake, c’mon Brahms-”, you said while aggressively pushing him to the side. Your eyes widened in shock at the view you witnessed. Your own face turned a bright tomato red, but instead of running away or turning your judgement towards Brahms, you began laughing. It was so absurd, laughing was all you could do as you clasped your hand over your mouth. All Brahms could do was stay still, his vision directed straight at the floor. Looking at the peculiar, life-size doll that Brahms had laying on his uncomfortable looking bed, you found the location of your missing pyjama top and panties. Sighing, you looked up at him, but he refused to make eye contact. Even though what he did was wrong, you couldn’t help but pity him. “Brahms..” you started, turning this situation into a learning lesson for him, “I know you have… urges, and that’s all fine and well-” you pointed accusadely at your newly found clothing articles, “but you can’t be taking my stuff to go through with those urges, Brahms! Those are my property, and it’s incredibly invasive to go through my things without permission,” you said as you folded your arms, “there are better and healthier ways to go about this, Brahms.” “I know! I do-”, he said in defence, his eyes briefly directing towards his office table drawer, “-have better ways of.. Y’know, dealing with that but-” his hand gestures became erratic as he tried to explain himself, “Sometimes I just.. I couldn’t help but-”, he sighed in defeat, guiltily looking back into your eyes.“There’s really no excuse, Y/N. I’m really sorry about my behavior.” You smiled back up at him, “I’m not saying it’s alright, I’m not even sure if I entirely forgive you.. But I’m happy that you recognise what you did wasn’t a good thing. I’ll stay happy, as long as you never. Do it. Again,” you said, pointing a firm finger at him at your last statement. Your gaze slowly dropped down to his desk drawer, gingerly opening up the first one you saw, only catching a glimpse of numerous magazines before Brahms shut it violently, glaring at you as he said, “No going through other people’s stuff without permission,” he repeated back to you, to where you responded by putting your hands up in faux defence, “Alright, alright..” you giggled lightly, glancing around the room. “D’you reckon you’d be willing to have a bit of a spring clean in here?” you suggested to Brahms. He paused, considering it before enthusiastically nodding. </p><p>Spring cleaning turned into an entire room makeover, which took the entire day to go through. Tossing your newly found pieces of clothing into the washing machine, not wanting to think about what he’d done with them, you watched as Brahms dragged four completely full bin bags outside, throwing them in the outdoor bins for garbage disposal. After finishing the final touches by dusting off a few of his favourite taxidermy projects, you both stood at the top of the wooden staircase, examining the results of both of your hard work. The room was much more cosier and welcoming, but still preserved Brahms’ personality through his various nic nacs and books. Sighing, you looked down at Brahms’ bedroom area, his bed now replaced with an entirely new mattress and bedframe, his little bedside ‘girlfriend’ nowhere to be seen, to your enthusiasm. Wiping off the bit of sweat on your forehead, you clapped your gloved hands together while making your way downstairs, “Right! I think a shower’s in order. You’ll be showering as well, I presume?”, all he did was stare right back at you. “..Alright, I’ll get you a set of towels too, then. Mind showing me back to the surface?” you said. Although you’d already entered and exited through the winding walls multiple times with Brahms during the cleaning process, you still weren’t confident enough to venture in on your own. He simply nodded, following you down the stairs. Removing the elastic gloves from his hands, he put one of his hands on the small of your back, gesturing you to go in first. You did, and Brahms put a supportive hand on your shoulder as he slowly guided you through the walls. Once you’d both exited through the secret hatch, now covered in a layer of dust, you gently wafted some of the dust off of Brahms’ disheveled hair. He gently grabbed the wrist of your hand that was touching his hair before he spoke, “Er.. Thank you, for this. All of this. This-.. I wasn’t expecting all of this to happen, when I revealed who I truly was to you. To be brutally honest, I was expecting you to kick, scream and run away..” he said, his eyes staring deeply into yours, “..but I’m grateful you didn’t.”</p><p>You could tell he was smiling, by the way his eyes squinted under his mask. Your heart swelled as you watched his pupils dilate. He slowly let go of your wrist, but you found yourself frozen in place. After a few seconds passed, you inhaled air that you forgot to take in, eyes trying to find somewhere to fixate, anything that wasn’t the large man standing in front of you. “Well..” you said meekly, “I’m just happy you trusted me enough to reveal yourself in the first place,” you said, eventually smiling back at him. Another few seconds went by before you broke the silence, “Well! How’s about that shower, then?” you said energetically, trying to hide your nerves from the sudden intimate moment. You skipped along, on your way to find some fresh towels for the two of you, Brahms following behind you.</p><p>After you both showered separately, got dressed and ready for bed, Brahms opted to sleep in his guest bedroom again. Just like last time, he stood there, speaking unspoken words as he didn’t get into bed on his own volition, instead waiting for you to go through with his bedtime routine. You sighed, your nerves acting up as your hands shook while pulling his duvet aside for him to lay into. After you pulled the covers over him until he was snug, you looked at him with a jokingly scrutinizing stare, “Do we really have to?” you said sarcastically. He stared back at you, his arm lifting up from underneath the duvet. “Rules are rules,” he simply replied, his thumb and index finger gripping onto the base of his mask, pulling it up just to reveal the lower half of his face in a sudden moment of confidence. Your eyes widened at the opportunity he presented to you, the internal battle between your body and mind feuding as you took in all of the details of his face that he was willing to show you. You were correct in assuming he had residual burn marks from his childhood, seeing some of it seeping down the right side of his face, ending just at his jawline. You felt your mind disconnect from yourself, letting your body go into autopilot as Brahms laid there waiting in silence, his vision obscured by the shifted mask. Placing your palm on his chest, you could feel his own heart pounding in his chest as you leaned forward. Your nose brushed against the tip of his own, the first thing you felt was the heat radiating from his face right before your lips connected to his own surprisingly soft pair, along with the juxtaposition of his rough beard. He stayed completely still in the moment, not wanting to put pressure on you, just being grateful to even receive this experience from you as your mouths melded into a gentle kiss. Although you wanted it to go on for longer, you pulled away slowly, taking your hand away from his chest where his heart hammered wildly. “Goodnight, Brahms.” was all you could muster, before retreating back to your room as he pulled his mask down over his face and stared at the ceiling, left breathless from what had just occurred.</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11 - Interruption</h2></a>
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    <p>It was a clear, sunny day outside. With the curtains drawn and a window open, Sherlock sat in his Inn room, hunched over by the small coffee table while inspecting a half-dissolved eyeball with a large pair of tweezers. He squinted, his vision slightly obscured by his cartoonishly large goggles. He held the eyeball close to his face while trying to inspect his experiment, before hearing his phone vibrate. His head jerked in the general direction of the sound it made, but was unable to locate it under the cacophony of stained flasks, mugs and surgical equipment that was strewn about his room. Pushing two containers and a multi-paged document to the side, he picked up his phone with his free, gloved hand. Putting the eyeball on the table, he lifted the goggles off his face to get a better look at his new notification. He hoped you’d somehow updated him on your current whereabouts from your smartphone, but to his dismay it was just another email. About to discard his phone, he took another glance, realising it was an update from the forensics team. He tossed his phone on his unkempt bed, standing up from his cross-legged position on the ground before pulling off the latex gloves, tossing them on top of the eyeball. </p><p>Picking up the phone again, he opened the email. Skimming through it, he was disappointed but still intrigued to find out that, while there were fingerprints, none of them had a match on the government database. Placing his phone on the cluttered bedside table, he sat on the edge of his bed, readying himself into his usual thinking position with his eyes closed. The email did mention that the piece of paper had an unusually high density of dust on it, along with a few particles of food residue. Thinking back to the unusual set of rules and responsibilities that nannies had to uphold, he tried to piece together to come to some sort of conclusion. The Heelshire’s opted to freezing their leftovers, rather than developing some sort of compost-mechanism, music was to be played at an unnecessarily loud volume, books and poetry must be read ‘loud and clear’, and had rat traps that needed to be emptied every once and a while, assuming to keep them out of the walls. The doll itself is perceived to be moving on it’s own, according to you, resulting in a crumpled, dust-caked haphazardly written note to be handed to you, supposedly from the doll. “Rule number 2; Brahms is never to be left alone,” Sherlock repeated your words, “Rule number 9; Brahms is never to leave,” his eyes shot open from his thinking position.  Sherlock’s nerves spiked when he began to draw a conclusion, but there was one small detail that was missing, so he pulled out his laptop from underneath the bed, opening the article about Brahms’ death. Skimming through the entire article with bated breath, he finally found the sentence he was looking for, ‘body could not be recovered from the damage.’ He couldn’t help but smirk triumphantly, but his delight was soon snuffed out by a wave of anxiety, knowing that you were never truly alone. </p><p>Throwing on his jacket, about to call the nearby police department, he paused at a memory of you mentioning how the Heelshire’s were acting odd when they were leaving in a hurry for a ‘holiday’. Instead, Sherlock opted to call the detective that he sent out to keep eyes on the Heelshires. “Make a move, you can arrest them under the pretence of false imprisonment,” Sherlock said when the detective answered, keeping it short and simple as per usual. “Yes, sir,” the detective responded before swiftly hanging up. Soon Sherlock dialled the number for the local police force, his coat swinging aggressively as he marched down the Inn hallway. </p><p>-----</p><p>You awoke to the gentle touch of a finger, which was pushing your hair out of your face. You grunted slightly, feeling your muscles wake up, ready to face a new day of unusual events. You opened your eyes slightly, squinting as the early morning sun seeped into your room. Your eyes soon widened as you saw a porcelain mask reflecting that same sun ray. “B-Brahms, what are you-” “Don’t be alarmed, I just.. wanted to wake you up, with some breakfast,” he said, standing by your bedside with a silver tray in hand. He was already fully washed and dressed, you were glad he was already getting into a habit of good hygiene. He stood there amicably, waiting for you to sit up. Once you eventually did, he placed the tray on your lap. Looking down you found yet again perfectly made jam on toast, this time with a side of orange slices and a glass of milk. You smirked, you couldn’t help but find his fixation of jam and buttered toast adorable. He hesitated awkwardly for a moment before saying, “I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ll be, ah.. waiting in the sitting room, when you’re ready,” he said with a slight bow before exiting the room. You frowned at his last statement, before your face flushed bright pink from the memory of last night. Perhaps he wanted to have a discussion about it with you. You sighed, checking your phone to find it was 9:12am, before digging into your scrumptious breakfast. </p><p>After you’d finished your breakfast, showered and got dressed, you made your way towards the kitchen. Placing the silver tray, plate and utensils by the sink, you stalked your way to the sitting room. From where you entered, Brahms sitting on the sofa, his back facing towards you. You could smell the familiar scent of tea in the room, but before you could gather your emotions in preparation to talk to him, his head turned around, making eye contact with you. “Ah, there you are, Y/N. Please, sit.” he said as his hand gestured towards the seat that was opposite him. Sitting yourself down on the chair, you found a full tea set on the coffee table that separated the both of you, which included a variety of biscuits and neatly wrapped chocolates. “So, I wanted to talk to you about.. Showing myself to you. Fully,” he said, tapping the porcelain mask that sat snug on his face, “But I need you to tell me who you are, who you really are,” he said, and you nodded at his request, slightly relieved that it wasn’t a discussion about last night. You felt a pool of guilt bubble at the base of your stomach, you planned on telling him the truth eventually, but you figured you underestimated his intelligence on figuring out your false identity so soon. You stuttered slightly, hesitating to find the right words before saying, “I just wanted to say, I’m sorry for not being totally honest with you. I recognise that I deceived you, but it was for your benefit,” you explained. He shook his head, “There’s no need to apologise. It was for a, um.. a case, right..? I remember you talking about it to our.. uninvited guest,” Brahms replied, suggesting to the time Sherlock forced his way into the mansion. You nodded, about to continue before Brahms asked, “So.. are you an investigator? Detective?”, he said with a slight head tilt, “I’ve read a lot about those in my novels, their careers seem interesting,” he said with a slight chuckle. You nodded again, “Yeah, I um.. I am. Our ‘uninvited guest’, his name is Sherlock, he sent me here about the case related to..” you paused, unsure of how Brahms would react to the mention of her name. Before you could continue, Brahms finished your sentence, “..Emily Cribbs, am I correct in assuming that?” Your eyes widened at his correct assumption, nodding for the third time. There was a brief second of silence between the two of you, before you clarified, “Sherlock and I believe you’d done nothing wrong,” you said as Brahms’ sight slowly directed itself towards the window, “..I believe no parent would do this to their son without a guilty motiv-” you stopped as Brahms stood to his feet. “Is- Is everything alright, Brahms?” you said, your vision following his own towards the window as you heard the familiar sound of two cars coming down the driveway. </p><p>You saw panic take over Brahms’ entire being as he clumsily fled to one of the walls, opening up a secret entrance. “Brahms- please, wait!” you pleaded, stumbling towards him. All you heard was his panicked breathing before shutting the entrance to the wall, the image of his terrified eyes implanting themselves in your mind. You heard loud banging on the front door, along with a familiar voice calling out your name. You grumbled loudly at the frustration of Sherlock’s unpleasant timing, striding towards the foyer before swinging the door open. “Sherlock, what the bloody hell are you doing he-” “Listen, Y/N, you were correct in assuming that you weren’t alone inside this mansion,” Sherlock cut you off in a slight frenzy, pushing his way inside, analysing every inch of the mansion as he marched his way through the hallway. The neurons in your brain quickly connected the dots; Sherlock had figured out the true identity of the Heelshire’s son. “Sherlock, wait-” you demanded, but he didn’t listen “..But the presence isn’t anything close to paranormal,” he continued as he made his way into the sitting room. Just as he was about to call out Brahms’ name, he paused when he noticed two cups of tea and a set of biscuits on the coffee table. Frowning in confusion, he turned to face you, “Yes of course I bloody know that, Sherlock, we were just having fucking tea together!” you said, an infuriated hand pointing towards the untouched tea set. He gave you an incredulous look, “And why the hell didn’t you tell me?!” he said, just as frustrated as you were at this newfound information. “Because I knew you’d react like this!” you retorted, arms swinging outward to suggest the current commotion, “I was THIS close to getting important information for the case,” you said while pinching your index finger and thumb together in his face, “But you went ahead and scuffed it up, Sherlock!” you said in a huff, clasping your hands over your face as you let out a heavy sigh. </p><p>Sherlock remained still as he filed away this new information about Brahms as you flopped onto the sofa where Brahms previously sat, your face planted into the palm of your hands. Your mind was rushing as you were quickly coming up with a new plan of action to get Brahms to trust you again, the bond you both built had partially torn by the interruptance of Sherlock. “We have the parents under custody, by the way,” Sherlock mentioned as he stood by your side, “They were on the way to a beach when they were arrested under the pretenses of false imprisonment,” he continued. You remained silent, your mind focused on how you can approach Brahms about the sudden new changes he’d have to face. “How-.. How long did you know? About Brahms, I mean,” Sherlock asked, wanting to get you to talk to him after what had just happened. “Friday”, you said, your voice muffled as you shifted your head upwards, eyes making contact with the chair situated in front of you. Your eyes drifted to the window, seeing a small group of patrol officers looking around for something to do. “Can you tell them to piss off?” you sighed, “Having you around here is enough to put Brahms on edge.” Sherlock nodded, walking towards the window. Once he got their attention, he sent them a hand signal to tell them to be on their way. Complying, they all entered their patrol cars, driving away. When he turned back around, he found you standing while massaging your temples, “I’ll need you to stay here while I talk to him,” you said, your voice strained by the sudden stress of the situation that was thrown onto you, “Stay inside the sitting room. Have our tea and biscuits, I don’t care, Just-- Stay. Put.” you said sternly, knowing Sherlock’s curiosity would get the best of him. You made your way to the entrance Brahms previously used, getting the tips of your fingers into the hatch’s grooves, pulling it out with a bit of force. Just as you entered, you made pointed eye contact with Sherlock, “I mean it,” was the last thing you said, before closing the secret door, enveloping yourself in dust and darkness.</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12 - Comfort</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You pulled your phone out of your back pocket, illuminating your path as you envisioned the pathway you’d taken multiple times during you and Brahms’ spring clean. As you began your journey, Sherlock followed your current position inside the walls from the slight bumping and thumping among the inner walls, until he heard the noise rise to the second floor. Glancing down at the lukewarm cup of tea that you left untouched, he took it by the handle, sipping it gingerly. His eyebrows faintly raised by the impeccable taste, tempting him to scavenge the kitchen for Brahms’ selection of teabags. Repeating your demand in his head, he instead sat down in the chair with one leg over the other while he took another sip from the teacup. </p><p>You found yourself getting panicked in the dark, claustrophobic space that you felt like would never end. Winding around a few bends, you inhaled only to get a mouthful of dust, halting your journey from going through a coughing fit. After your body finished convulsing, wiping the split that trailed from your bottom lip, you kept on moving until you reached a familiar dead end. You pushed against the false wall, feeling the flimsy state of it before pulling it inward, revealing the dimly lit room you and Brahms had redecorated together. “Brahms..?” you whispered delicately as you slowly entered his space, looking towards his makeshift bedroom, only to find him lying on his new bed in the fetal position, facing the wall in front of him. “Brahms..” you repeated, taking cautious steps towards his bed, “It’s me, Y/N,” as you got closer, you realised he was shaking, bringing back the memory of when he first revealed himself. Your heart sank when you realised he was back at square one. “Brahms- I’m so sorry. I.. I-”, you stuttered, you were at a loss for words. Similarly to Sherlock, comforting people under stressful circumstances was not your forte, but you still wanted to try to your best ability. Softly placing your hand on his shoulder, he flinched, but didn’t pull away. You could feel him trembling under your palm. “Are you.. going to leave me, when you solve the case..?” Brahms questioned, his voice quivering. Your brows furrowed in thought, you hadn’t considered how Brahms would continue living life after what had happened within the mansion. Determined, you sat on his mattress, your hand rubbing up and down his arm in an attempt to console him. You nibbled at your bottom lip, choosing your words carefully, “No Brahms, I’m not,” your heart skipped a beat out of nerves as the heavy promise left your lips, “I don’t plan on leaving you at all. I don’t want to abandon you, especially in the current state you’re in,” you said, which made him slowly turn, his dampened eyes making contact with your uneasy, sympathetic pair. “..Really?”, he questioned, his voice breaking slightly, telling that he was partially slipping into his habit of using a high-pitched voice. All you could do was nod silently, before he fully turned around, opting to wrap his large arms around your waist in an almost bone-crushing grip while burying his face into your thighs, “I don’t want to ever be left alone again,” he said, muffled into your jeans. All you could do was look down at him, your fingers delicately brushing through his curls. You had a sinking feeling in your gut, the uncertainty of your future washing you over with anxiety as the large man silently sobbed.</p><p>You both sat there for what felt like an hour before Brahms slowly lifted his head, until he was in a sitting position next to you, the bed frame creaking under his shifting weight. Even in this position, he still towered over you. “Is.. Is he- Sherlock, I mean- Is he still downstairs?” Brahms asked hesitantly. You nodded, “He is. I asked him to wait there, but don’t worry. I’ll make him wait all day if I have to,” you said with a pensive smile, “None of the officers are there, I asked him to send them home,” you clarified, which made Brahms exhale out a bit of anxiety. Nodding to himself, he clasped one of your hands in both of his, “Alright.. I-.. I want to continue our conversation. The one we were having in the sitting room,” he said, and you could see the determination in his eyes. “Oh Brahms- please, don’t force yourself if you’re not ready.” you reassured, worried that he was doing this in case you were getting impatient. He shook his head, “I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ll never be 100% ready to face new things,” Brahms said, his eyes never straying away from yours, “Life is full of unpredictability.. b-but, rather than trying to escape it.. I want to embrace it. Be a part of it’s arbitrariness,” he said. You felt your heart swell at the eloquence of his true nature, you couldn’t help but admire the way he adapted to his new circumstances. His head slowly leaned towards your own, his forehead resting against yours, closing his eyes as he took a few heavy breaths in preparation for his next decision. Lifting his head up, releasing your hand from his grip, he said in a hushed tone, “Could you… Would you do me the honor?”, he said while tapping on his mask with his long index finger. Your eyes widened slightly, your own heart hammering in your chest in the intensity of the moment. Clasping the edges of his mask with both your hands, you slowly lifted it off his face, some of his curls getting caught in the movement. Placing the mask next to Brahms on the soft duvet, the first thing you noticed were his doe-shaped, forest green eyes staring right back at you. You found yourself getting lost in them, before your eyes shifted to the rest of his face. A strong aquiline-shaped nose that perfectly fit his face shape, your sight flickered to his singular, thick eyebrow, the other one missing to the abundant scars that layered across the right side of his face, which led to his familiar lips which made your face tint a shade of pink. Subconsciously, your lips pulled up into a smile. “You’re a handsome man, Brahms,” you said without thinking, his eyes widening in embarrassment while his blood rushed to the tips of his ears. He suddenly hugged you in a desperate attempt to hide his face, burying it in the nook of your neck, making you giggle at his bashfulness. You hugged him back, resting your head on his broad shoulder while you gently rubbed his back. “You’re pretty, too.. Y/N..” he whispered, making it your turn to be bashful. </p><p>You both sat there for a good few minutes before you pat his back, making him slowly pull away from the hug, his hands still tenderly holding onto the sides of your arms. “I know I said I’d make him wait all day if I had to but..” you said with a slight chuckle, “He can get quite cranky if he’s made to wait for long periods of time,” you explained. Brahms tilted his head inquisitively before nodding it slightly. You found yourself staring at his face, you couldn’t stop taking in every single detail you find on his newly revealed face. Glancing to the side, in order to help you focus on the current affairs at hand, you said “You can wait in here if you want, I’ll just go to send him off-” “N-No, I’ll.. I want to come with you,” he said, drawing your attention back to his face as he held onto your hand. All you could do was stare back at him for a moment, before nodding, giving him a small triumphant smile. “Alright, Brahms.” You both stood up, Brahms still holding onto your hand as you both made your way to the exit, leaving behind his mask on the slightly disheveled duvet. Exiting out of the winding inner walls, you both entered Brahms’ childhood bedroom. Just as he was shutting the secret entrance, you took notice of the small, child-sized violin. “Brahms, did you play violin when you were younger?” you asked, looking back at him. Your heart fluttered every time he made eye contact with his large doe eyes. “Oh, are you referring to that..? I did, but after the..” you saw his eyes slightly glaze over before continuing, “After the incident, they stopped having the tutor stop by. I haven’t played since.” You nodded solemnly, reaching out your hand for him to take as you both exited his bedroom. </p><p>After quietly making your way downstairs, you both entered the sitting room. Sherlock was too preoccupied with reading a book from Brahms’ collection to notice your presence, until you cleared your throat. Sherlock’s eyes shot up to your face, his eyes flickering between you and the large man standing behind you, whom was struggling to conceal himself behind your significantly smaller frame. Glimpsing at the stack of books on the coffee table, along with the half eaten biscuits and now empty teapot, you came to the conclusion, “You sure made yourself at home,” you said sarcastically, walking further into the room, Brahms staying close by as he stared directly at Sherlock, his posture stiff as a board. Sherlock merely glanced at Brahms before directing his vision towards you, “Well, what else was I supposed to do?” he responded, standing up and brushing off any crumbs that might have fallen onto his lap. “No really, I’m glad you stayed put,” you said to Sherlock, elated he hadn’t misbehaved while you were gone. “I see you enjoyed our tea,” you chuckled, letting go of Brahms’ hand, to his dismay, as you picked up the abandoned books so you could put them back in their place. Sherlock put his hands in his pockets, before directing his attention to Brahms, “Speaking of which, what brand of tea bags do you buy?” Sherlock inquired. From your position, you nervously watched Brahms fidget with his cuticles at the sudden attention, “Tea.. Bags..? Oh- Mummy and Daddy usually picked which ones were best, so I’m.. um, not sure.” He said hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck. You cringed internally at the terminology he used for his parents, but you were still happy that he was willing to conversate with Sherlock. Just as you were about to attempt to push the final book in it’s place on a high shelf, Brahms soon noticed your struggle, quickly making his way by your side. “Let me get that for you,” he said, taking the book from your hands. “Oh thank you Brahms,” you said, giving him a sweet smile before diverting your gaze to a slightly pouting Sherlock. “Follow me, Sherly. I’ll take you to the kitchen and I’ll show you what teabags we have here,” you said, picking up the silver tray that held the tea set and biscuits before exiting the room, Sherlock following in tow. Pushing the book into it’s dedicated spot on the shelving unit, Brahms looked back to where you and Sherlock left the room. Brahms hesitated, looking down at his shoes in consideration. He was conflicted; he wanted to be by your side, but he also wanted to give you space to talk with your work partner. He sighed, before plucking out a book for himself, sitting down on the sofa.</p><p>Washing up the tea set, along with the rest of the dishes, Sherlock stood next to you as he inspected the unique, high-class selection of tea bags and loose tea leaves. “So, what’s your plan with their son, then?” Sherlock asked, looking behind him to check if Brahms was nearby. “I.. made him a promise. I said I’ll never leave him,” you whispered back. “And you’re planning on upholding that promise?” Sherlock said, eyebrow raised. You sighed heavily, thinking back on the promise you made before nodding, “It’s the least I could do for him, Sherly,” you explained, “I couldn’t leave him like this with a good conscience.” “Do you even have a spare bedroom in your apartment? You made me sleep on your couch during that one case,” Sherlock asked, to where your ears went red at the thought of sharing your bedroom with Brahms, “I-I’ll figure something out,” you said in a hushed tone, turning your head back around to find Brahms standing by the door frame, book in hand with his thumb being used as a temporary bookmark. You gave Brahms a small smile, before asking, “Would you mind helping me put these away?” you asked, holding up a small mug that you were in the middle of drying with a tea towel. </p><p>While you and Brahms were putting away the freshly cleaned dishes, Sherlock blatantly asked, “So what were your last memories of Emily Cribbs?” Jolting from the sudden question, Brahms’ finger slipped on one of the teacups, causing it to collide and break on the tiled surface. “Sherlock!” you hissed, before reaching for the nearby broom. “No- Y/N, it’s fine,” Brahms said as he wrung his hands together out of nervousness. Leaning his waist against the kitchen sink, he closed his eyes in recollection, trying to find his last memories of Emily Cribbs in his blurry childhood memories. “All I remember is that she would visit every Saturday afternoon, for us to play together. Nothing ever seemed off before her death, only how my parents had changed.. before they..” Brahms paused, and you saw the familiar glaze forming over his eyes as he remembered the fire he was engulfed in as a child. Brahms put the heel of his palms into his eye sockets, internally panicking as he tried to force the horrible memories back into the recesses of his mind. “Sherlock, I think we need to wait until we can get that sort of information..” you said in a gentle tone, your hand remaining on the small of Brahms’ back. Sherlock gave you a scrutinising stare before standing, the chair being sent back with a screech. “Then I suppose you won’t need me here for now then,” he said in a stern tone. Your eyebrows raised slightly, you hadn’t seen Sherlock act so dismissive before, you couldn’t help but chuckle as your rubbed circles on Brahms’ back. “I suppose not,” you said in a cheeky tone, watching as Brahms’ heavy breathing subsided. “Scotland Yard might want you back soon, however,” Sherlock responded, glancing between you and Brahms, “You’ll have to get him out of this house and in your apartment within a week, max.” You nodded, “Will you be going back soon, then?” He shook his head, “I’ll only leave Sheffield once you are. I’ll remain in my inn room until then.” Sherlock said, as he made his exit. “Your room better not be a pigsty, Sherly.” you warned, to where he paused by the door frame. “I’ll be seeing you, Mrs Y/N,” Sherlock said, avoiding your question to your amusement before he left. Sighing, you turned to Brahms, “Everything alright?” you asked, holding his hands gingerly in your own. All he could do is nod, so you suggested “How’s about I read to you after we have dinner? Does that sound alright?” you said, trying to get Brahms in a chipper mood after today’s emotionally draining events.</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13 - Movie Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After the events that took place earlier that day, you and Brahms found yourselves much more comfortable around each other. After dinner was finished, you both washed the dishes together before retreating to the sitting room, wanting to fulfill your promise of reading a book to Brahms. He sat down, making himself comfortable as you browsed his collection. Once you found a book that caught your fancy, you turned around to find Brahms sitting on the couch, his long legs resting along the sofa ‘till his feet reached the other end. Looking at you, he smiled innocently while patting his sturdy thighs, suggesting that you sit on his lap this time. You felt your face heat up at the suggestion, before walking up to him and sitting on his lap. You both shifted slightly, until you both got into a comfortable position. The back of your head rested against his chest, while his chin rested gently on the top of your head, his coarse beard tickling your scalp. His arms were securely wrapped around your stomach as his eyes scanned horizontally along the pages, following the words as you read aloud to him. You paused as you came across the word ‘movie’, recalling the laptop that still sat snug inside your suitcase. “Brahms..” you said while turning your head to make eye contact with him, his pupils dilating at the close proximity, “You’ve never watched a movie, have you?” you asked. He silently shook his head, to which you smiled while saying “I have a few downloaded on my laptop, if you’d like to watch some?” Seeing his eyes light up at the opportunity made your heart swell. He grunted slightly as you shifted your position to stand up, closing the book in your hand as you checked your watch. “20:14, hmm.. we should wash up and get into our pyjamas now, before the movie. They can take a while to watch, so it’ll be a good idea to get comfy,” you said, looking back down at him with a gentle smile.</p><p>Just as you were handing Brahms his own pair of towels and pyjamas, preparing to go separate ways to shower, Brahms spoke up, “Uhm..” he hesitated, with his face now exposed you could see the pink shade dust across his face and neck, “Could you… wash my hair, like last time?” he asked, his head tilting slightly at the request. You couldn’t help but stare back, your mind stuttering while trying to process his question. Once his request registered in your mind, the back of your neck flushed a bright pink while your eyes widened slightly, “O-Oh, of course Brahms!” you said, keeping up an energetic and positive facade to hide your nerves. “It’s a good idea you suggested that, actually,” you said, walking past Brahms down the hallway to the larger bathroom, “..because we get to wash your face this time, too,” you said, smiling while looking back at him. He nodded at the thought happily, before following you into the familiar bathroom.</p><p>After you ran him a bath, a thought popped into your head. “Brahms, you get yourself in that bath, I’ll be back in a quick second,” you said, glad to get a chance to leave while he was getting undressed, but just as you were about to leave he grasped onto your wrist. Looking back, he gave you an uncertain look. “I’ll only be gone for a few seconds, Brahms. I promise,” you said, giving him a reassuring look. He waited for a moment, glancing between your hand and your eyes, before letting go of your wrist, letting you scurry to your bedroom while he got undressed. Rummaging through your bathroom, you picked out some of your skincare products and a small, clean washcloth. Standing back outside the larger bathroom, you knocked on the wooden door, “Brahms..? Are you decent?” you asked, to where you heard a soft, “Mmhm,” in response before letting yourself in. Even though you’d seen him like this before, your blood still rushed to your face at the current sight of him, his now exposed face making it harder for you to focus. All he could do was stare back at you innocently, your entire body frozen in place. “Y/N..? Are you alright?” his question snapped you back into reality, your face flushing in embarrassment after getting caught staring, “Sorry! Sorry.. I’m fine- don’t worry,” you said, rushing to get to the side of the bath, hiding your being away from his probing stare.  Kneeling down and rolling back your sleeves, you got to dampening his hair with the steaming bath water, already feeling Brahms relax into your touch. As you were rubbing the shampoo into his hair, he let out a miniscule groan as his back rested against the basin, which was enough to set you off, making you even more flustered than you were already. He slowly began submerging his torso further into the hot bath water as he got more comfortable, and from the corner of your eyes you saw his upper thighs beginning to expose themselves further and further from the soapy water. You clenched your jaw at this, forcing yourself to only focus on his curly dark hair in front of you.</p><p>Washing out the last of the shampoo out of his hair, you eventually stood up, hearing the clicks in your knees as they relaxed into your standing position. “Alright..” you sighed, making your way over to the sink, Brahms’ eyes never leaving your body. Gathering your skin care supplies, you turned to him, making sure your eyes never left his face, “I’ll need you to face me, Brahms. So I clean your face for you,” you said, showing him two small bottles from your collection. He shifted forwards, the water beneath him sloshing until he sat hunched over in the middle of the bath, his arms folded on the edge of the basin with his chin sitting on top of them. Kneeling in front of him, you took the now damp washcloth and gently brushed it over his face, his eyes glued to your own as you focused on your current task. After scrubbing and cleansing, you took out your own moisturiser, putting a small dollop on the tips of your fingers before massaging it into his coarse skin, his eyes closing as he relaxed into your gentle touch. After you’d finished, his skin flushed and looking fresher than before, you took his smaller towel and draped it over his hair, massaging the water out of his soft curls, his body physically loosening by the comforting feeling of being taken care of. </p><p>“All done!” you said after finishing your task. You took the towel off his head before standing, turning around to gather your things until you heard the familiar sound of sloshing, followed by his heavy footsteps. “B-Brahms- at least let me gather my stuff and leave before you do that-” “Oh, don’t worry Y/N, I have my towel on”, Brahms tried to reassure you through his innocence, not knowing that you could barely even look at a man’s exposed chest. Frozen in place, you were unsure on what to do next until you heard Brahms giggle, “Are you shy, Y/N?” Through your own stubbornness, you turned around while expressing faux offence. “I-... I may be, but- That’s not the point,” you said sternly, but in jest. You both couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of your diffidence towards the naked form. Sighing, your eyes slowly gazed towards the expanse of chest hair splayed across his chest, your face flushing a bright pink before jerking your gaze back to his mischievous eyes. Your vision then focused on his unruly beard, before tilting your head, “Brahms.. Have you ever.. trimmed that before..?” you asked, poking at your own jawline in suggestion to his own. Looking down at his own beard, you clarified, “I-I’m not saying you should… but I do have some small scissors, that I could use to just.. clean it up a bit, y’know?” you suggested. Brahms thought about it for a moment before nodding, generally indifferent about the idea. “It could always grow back,” he quipped with a smirk while shrugging.</p><p>Once you retrieved your small pair of scissors, that you typically used to groom your eyebrows, you were both still situated in the bathroom. Brahms was sitting on the brim of the now empty bathtub, while you stood in front of him, tongue poking out of the side of your mouth as you focused on giving him an even trim. “I used to shave, when I was younger,” Brahms said as you were brushing away loose hairs from his neck, “..but over time, I just sort of..” “Let yourself go..?” you finished his sentence, to where he confirmed with a light nod. Going back to trimming his beard, you continued, “I get that. I had a.. uh, friend, who had bad patches in his life every now and then. He’d let himself go, and whenever I stopped by, I’d help him shave his beard for him,” you said before blowing away a few loose hairs, “It’s not like he could grow much of a beard, anyway,” you said with a chuckle, trimming the last few bits of hair before standing back, taking in the full expanse of his face. You gently tilted his head in different angles, making sure his beard was fully even before a satisfied smile slid across your face, “..aaand I think we’re done,” you said, giving Brahms a light scruffle under his chin. He leaned forward, looking at himself in the mirror above the sink before giving you a small, toothy grin “Thanks, Y/N.” You smiled back at him, “It was my pleasure,” you said, giving him a wink, causing Brahms’ ears to turn pink, before gathering your things. “Now, I’m gonna go back to my room. You get dressed in here,” you said, pointing towards the neatly folded pyjamas that were placed on the toilet lid, “and you can join me so we can watch something together before bedtime,” you said, to which Brahms responded with a nod before you left him alone to get dressed. </p><p>Entering your room, you threw your washcloth and Brahms’ head towel into your washbasket. Placing your bottles of products on your dresser, you leaned down to rummage in your suitcase, lifting up your laptop along with it’s charger, plugging it in a nearby socket before turning on your device. Letting it boot up, you grabbed some pyjamas, rushing into your bathroom in hopes of getting dressed before Brahms arrived. However, just as you closed your bathroom door, you heard Brahms enter. “Y-Y/N..?” you heard Brahms say, slightly panicked when he didn’t find you inside the room you promised you’d be in. “I-I’m in here Brahms! Just give me a minute,” you said as you threw your t-shirt on over your head in a hurry. He opted to sit on the edge of your bed, his hands clasped together in his lap. He glanced at the laptop seated next to him, mystified by the bright screen that was projected on it’s surface. Having only heard about the concept of this technology, he found himself bewildered seeing it in person. Just as he was about to touch one of it’s buttons, you exited the bathroom, tossing your old clothes in the wash basket. Looking over at Brahms, you found his penetrative stare raking over your body in your more comfortable attire. Bashful, your face blushed as you cleared your throat, making your way to the doorframe and flicking the lightswitch off in your room, the moonlight shining through your windows and your laptop now being your only current sources of light inside your bedroom. Shuffling back over to your bed, you picked up your laptop with one hand while crawling into a sitting position, your back resting against the fluffed up pillows. Patting the empty space next to you with your palm, you invited Brahms to sit next to you, to which he aptly accepted before crawling up next to you. </p><p>Logging in, you looked to your side to find Brahms staring at the screen, almost unblinking as he processed all of this new information. You chuckled lightly, before opening up the list of movies you’d downloaded in preparation for your job working as a nanny. “Do you.. Have anything specific in mind, Brahms?” you asked, as he slowly brought his head forward, squinting as he read through the long list of titles, “I… I wouldn’t have a clue which one to pick,” he said, looking back at you, unsure of what to choose. You just smiled back before saying, “I have a movie in mind, it’ll be a good one for your first experience,” you said, scrolling down through the list before clicking on ‘Howl’s Moving Castle’, one of your personal favourites. Brahms was quick to snuggle into your side once the movie began playing, his arm wrapped across your stomach while his head rested on your shoulder. From this angle, you could see his eyes trying to absorb all of the colours and many details as possible throughout the movie, and you couldn’t help but find his mystified, doe eyes adorable. As the movie came to a close, Brahms’ head had eventually made it’s way to your chest, his head raising and settling gently at every breath you took, while your hand ran through his freshly washed hair. When the two main characters kissed, you could tell Brahms was subtly glancing at you. Trying to save face and innocence, you casually acted like you couldn’t see him while focusing on the movie, but your increasing heart beat was a dead give away to Brahms, making him simper before turning his attention back to the laptop screen. Once the credits began to roll, you stretched your arms upwards before asking, “Do you want to watch another one..? Or do you want to go to bed now?” Brahms contemplated, peering at the digital clock on the bottom right corner of the screen “..One more?” he asked, his gaze fixed on your face as his grip around your torso gently tightened. You nodded, complying as you picked out another movie made by Studio Ghibli. </p><p>Halfway through the second movie, Brahms took note of your slowed breathing pace, turning his head to find you fast asleep. Raising his brows, he looked back at the movie as he reached towards the button you’d previously used to press play. After he managed to successfully pause the movie, he gently closed the laptop like he would with a book, before delicately lifting and placing it on the bedside table. He looked back down at you, now hovering over your sleeping form. He couldn’t help but stare, this was a completely new experience compared to the times he’d watched you sleep from the confines of the walls. Gently pulling his other arm from under your torso, he slowly shifted off the bed and onto his feet, peering down at you as he nibbled his bottom lip, unsure as to what he should do next. He lifted your torso gently, pulling the duvet down from under your body before draping it over yourself. With your slumber still undisturbed, Brahms nibbled on his fingernails before deciding what to do next. He didn’t want to leave your side, but he didn’t want to scare you in the morning, either. Giving it some thought, he crawled under the warm duvet with you, but still attempted in leaving space between the two of you. To his dismay, but also to his delight, in your slumber you were quick to attach yourself to him, a habit you developed from hugging your pillows in your sleep. Your arms wrapped around his torso as you planted your head in his chest, one of your legs swinging over his own. Although he was quick to reciprocate, he quickly retracted his pelvis away from any contact with you. While he was a self-admitted pervert, he didn’t want to do you any unjust harm. Cradling your head in his hand, he gingerly gave you a delicate kiss on the top of your head, before whispering “Goodnight, Y/N.”</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14 - Heavenly Blue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fair warning, things are slowly but surely beginning to get heated between the reader and Brahms, but it's nothing too explicit... yet.<br/>I've updated the tags accordingly.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Slowly being pulled out of your slumber by the sounds of birdsong, your eyes opened to the sight of your laptop sitting on your bedside table, a small portion of it hanging off the edge. Shifting slightly, you realised there was a weight on you, a heavy weight. Registering it as a strong arm draped over your side, you soon realised what predicament you were in. The last thing you remembered doing was watching a movie with Brahms, so you came to the conclusion that you must’ve fallen asleep halfway through, although you didn’t think Brahms would’ve been brave enough to sleep in the same bed as you. Throughout your slumber, you must’ve ended up being Brahms’ small spoon, and your face radiated a bright red when you felt his morning glory pressed against the lower portion of your back. You remained frozen in place out of fear of awakening the slumbering beast but regardless of your effort, or lack thereof, you felt him shift slightly as he awoke from his own beauty sleep. Immediately closing your eyes, you pretended to remain asleep to preserve your innocence in the current situation you both found yourselves in. Feeling his arm slip away from your torso, you heard him scratch his recently trimmed beard, then silence, until you felt his pelvis jerk away quickly from your rear end. Letting out a breath of relief, your anxiety soon spiked again as you felt the mattress shift, a hand pressing against the soft surface directly in front of your face as Brahms hovered directly over you. Even with your eyes closed, you could feel his intense stare as he merely watched you from his position above you. “Y/N..?” he questioned in a whisper, waiting to see if you responded. While you were busy debating in your mind as to whether you should pretend you’d just woken up, or continue to ‘sleep’, you felt him lower his body closer to your own. He pressed his nose into your hair, inhaling your scent deeply. Your heart rate increased drastically when you felt his clothed erection throb against your thigh from where he was straddled above you. Having never experienced this side of Brahms before, you didn’t know what to think of it, but all you knew was that you weren’t entirely repulsed by it. Drawing his face away from your hair, he gently pecked your cheek before shuffling off the bed, striding out of your bedroom in an apparent hurry. </p><p>A few seconds later, you heard the screeching of one of his secret entrances, which confirmed you of his current whereabouts when you heard him make his way to his own room within the walls. Sitting up, you figured now was the perfect time to shower. Your mind began to wander as you cleansed yourself in the steaming hot water, thinking back to what occurred that morning. You weren’t surprised to discover he was attracted to you in that kind of way, especially after you discovered the location of your missing garments, but you were still conflicted about your feelings towards him. Of course you reciprocated Brahms’ feelings towards you, but was it appropriate? Was he even emotionally prepared to enter that kind of relationship, considering his past? You sighed into the palms of your hands after you finished washing your face, your ever-present pool of anxiety bubbling at the bottom of your stomach. Stepping out of your shower, wrapping a fluffy towel around your torso, you waltzed back into your bedroom in order to get dressed. </p><p>Now situated in the kitchen, you cracked an egg into the sizzling frying pan as you prepared breakfast for the two of you. Considering it was a monday morning, you’d soon have to decide whether you should update Malcolm on the new discovery, or keep him in the dark until the very last moment. Your thoughts were soon interrupted by familiar footsteps coming from behind, your heart palpitating when a now fully-dressed Brahms wrapped his arms around your torso, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “‘Morning,” he said, his voice muffled as it vibrated against your neck. “Good morning Brahms,” was all you could reply with, concentrating on your task at hand as the images of earlier that day popped up in your mind. To Brahms’ blissful ignorance, he had no clue you knew what transpired an hour ago. Hell, he probably didn’t think you knew he slept in the same bed as you last night. All you could do was smirk, because deep down, you kind of liked that. You could consider it an ace up your sleeve. “What happened last night, Brahms? I must’ve dozed off halfway through,” you said with false innocence as you transferred the sunny-side up fried egg to Brahms’ plate, completing his full english breakfast. “Hm..? Oh- Last night..” you peered at him from your peripheral vision, watching the cogs turn in his brain as he conjured up a different scenario in his head. “You fell asleep while watching the movie.. So I- uh, put you to bed, before going back to my room,” he lied, rubbing the back of his neck while his ears tinted pink when he thought back to the activities that took place during his brief secluded hour in his bedroom. You placed both of your plates on the kitchen table, sitting down in front of your own breakfast. “Oh, really? Sorry about that Brahms, I must’ve been more exhausted than I realised,” you said, giving him an innocent smile as he sat down next to you, “I hope you weren’t too lonely sleeping so far away,” you said slyly before popping a sliced mushroom in your mouth, enjoying the way Brahms squirmed under the pressure of his white lie. All he did was nod silently, avoiding eye contact before digging into his breakfast. </p><p>Washing up the last of the dishes together, Brahms found himself attached to your waist again, head resting on your shoulder. Ever since last night, he seemed almost addicted to keeping his arms wrapped around you. “Can we watch another movie together today, Y/N?” Brahms asked while you began drying a coffee mug. “You don’t want me to read you a book?” you asked, to where you could feel him shake his head. “Movies are cooler,” he responded, to which you found amusing. “Fair enough. Did you have any genre in mind?” you said, turning your head to make eye contact with the towering man behind you. “Maybe something scary? Thriller novels always gave me the chills, but they’re exciting to read, so I can only imagine what it’s like to watch a scary movie,” he explained, his grip on you tightening slightly as his thumb gently grazed against your side in a repetitive manner. You nodded, “Scary movie it is, then,” you conceded. You nibbled at your lip, you didn’t want to reveal your fear of scary movies, which contrasted your profession, so you merely accepted your fate. “First, we need to check the traps outside. Mind helping me with that?” you requested, to where Brahms nodded in response before detaching himself from you to grab his coat. </p><p>During your outdoor trek to rid the traps of dead rodents, which to your luck you found most of them to be empty, Brahms soon found upon his own gravestone. Staring at it from a distance, his eyes became void of emotion while in thought. Putting the black trash bag on the ground nearby, you walked up by his side and tenderly held onto his hand as a way to comfort him. “They weren’t planning on coming back, were they?” he asked, mostly to himself, his eyes glued at the empty grave. You shook your head gently, “..no, I don’t think they were,” you responded truthfully, thinking back to how the Heelshire’s behaved the day they left. “They’re going to be prosecuted.. for what they did to me, right?” he asked, his gaze unwavering. “Yes. That’s why me and Sherly need you to come back to London. To testify,” you explained, to where Brahms stayed silent for a minute. “They’ll be locked up, right?” he muttered. You looked up at him, his face glazed over and emotionless, “Most likely, yes,” you answered to his final question. He paused. “Good,” was all he responded, pulling himself away from your delicate grip, retreating back to his mansion. </p><p>Entering the house after throwing away the black bin bag, you pulled your thick garden gloves off your hands with a sigh. Pulling off your coat, you hung it on a coat rack nearby, stuffing the gloves into your coat pocket. Entering the sitting room, you found Brahms standing in front of the tall window, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared solemnly towards the estate exit. “Are you.. alright, Brahms?” you asked, subconsciously fiddling with your sweater sleeves as you slowly approached him. He looked down at his shoes before asking, “..What did I do to deserve this..? What did I do wrong?” he questioned himself, his eyebrow furrowing in deep contemplation. “I-.. Nothing, Brahms. You didn’t deserve what they.. What they did to you,” you said as you placed your hand on the small of his back, rubbing it in circular motions. “C’mere..” you whispered, inviting Brahms into a hug with your other hand, to which he gladly accepted. He wrapped his arms around you into a bone crushing hug, burying his head into his usual spot of the crook in your neck as he softly whimpered, “How am I supposed to live a normal life.. a-after all this..” you could hear his voice breaking as he sobbed into your exposed skin, and all you could do was clench your jaw as you continued to rub his back in soothing circles. “I-I’m so scared, Y/N… of what it’s like, outside..” he said, suggesting to the world beyond the overgrown estate gates. “I know you are Brahms, and that’s okay,” you consoled, “I’ll be here to make sure you’re okay,” you reminded him just as he peeled back away from your neck, his cheeks dampened with tears. “Promise me you’ll never leave me,” he said in a hushed voice while looking back and forth between your eyes with a stern expression. You gave him a reassuring smile, despite the heartbreak you felt for him, and said “I promise Brahms, just like I did back inside your bedroom. I don’t plan on leaving your side any time soon.” </p><p>Later throughout the day, you both ended up laying on the sofa nearby, Brahms cuddled up with his head on your chest as you brushed your fingers through his hair. You both stayed there for what felt like hours, and you watched as the sky slowly turned a golden hue. No matter how long it took, you wanted to stay by Brahms’ side until he felt better. Looking down at him, you saw his eyes were closed as he took a brief cat nap. Soon after, his eyes opened while he drew circles with his fingertip on your side. “Uhm.. what’s the- uh.. The plan for.. Me, when we leave here?” Brahms asked, his voice coarse from his brief slumber, “For you? You stay with me, of course. I’ll be there to help you get situated into society,” you replied, fingers running along his scalp. He nodded, “What kind of house do you live in, Y/N?" Brahms asked innocently while looking up at you. “I- uh..” you stuttered, suddenly feeling insecure under the pressure of Brahms’ intense wealth. You never considered until now how Brahms basically had the world at his fingertips through his eventual inheritance. “I don’t live in a house, Brahms. I live in an apartment,” you explained. Although you were very successful in your career, you had always been hesitant to purchase a house due to it being a large commitment. “It’s not small, by any means, but… It’s no mansion,” you chuckled, before mentally addressing the bedroom situation. You nibbled on your bottom lip, avoiding Brahms’ doe eyes staring up at you as you thought about the bold decision Brahms made last night. While you weren’t opposed to the idea of sharing a bed, you were admittedly too reserved to suggest the idea of it to him. About to chalk that up to be a conversation for later, Brahms spoke up, “Is your guest bedroom big, at least?” he questioned, genuinely curious. Your ears burnt bright red at the sudden question, forcing you to address the bedroom situation head-on. “Uhm.. t-there is no.. spare bedroom,” you admitted, to your embarrassment, but to Brahms’ delight. “I was planning on sleeping on my couch, anywa-” “We could share!” Brahms eagerly cut your suggestion short, “I mean- I wouldn’t mind sharing, if you’re okay with it.. W-We could always practice, y’know, sharing a bed.. here..” he coyly asked, and you couldn’t help but giggle at his roundabout way of asking if you both could continue sleeping in the same bed together. “Whatever makes you happy, Brahms, I’m willing,” you responded, to which Brahms gave you a grateful smile. Right after, you felt the vibrations of his stomach growling. Laughing, you asked, “D’you reckon you’re ready for dinner, then?”</p><p>Once your evening events were out of the way, you and Brahms found yourselves in your bedroom, cuddled together in pyjamas while you scrolled through the list of movies on your laptop. Brahms pointed at the title ‘Friday the 13th’ with his long index finger, “What about this one?” he asked, to your slight distress. You’d downloaded the movie in hopes of tackling your fear of horror movies, but you never fully got around to it after you found it hard to get through on your own. You swallowed nervously, before nodding, “Yeah, we could try that.” As the movie commenced, you already found yourself subconsciously covering eyes at any sign of tension, and by the end of the movie your face was buried in Brahms’ clavicle, while he rubbed circles in your back, mirroring your method of consolation. “Y/N…. Y/N- The movie’s over,” Brahms whispered into your ear. You slowly lifted your head, turning it towards the screen to confirm that the credits were rolling. “Not a fan?” Brahms asked cheekily before you looked back at him, giving him a sarcastic glare, “Whatever Brahms,” you said in a half chuckle, unplugging and closing the laptop before placing it on your bedside table. “Alright, bedtime,” you sighed, feeling your eyelids get heavy as you tucked your legs under the duvet. After Brahms had done the same, he reattached his hands to your waist. </p><p>Just as you were about to roll over and fall asleep, you felt Brahms’ breath fan against the back of your neck as he whispered, “...Kiss.” No matter how lenient he’d gotten when it came to his rules, he never let go of rule number 10, but you weren’t exactly complaining. Slowly, you turned your body around to face him, his hands ever-present on your hips. “Alright, Brahms,” you consented in a whisper, your heart fluttering at the way he looked down at you; he looked hungry. Licking your lips, you leaned forward, both of your eyes closing as your lips pressed against each other. Just as you were about to pull away in hopes of leaving it as a chaste kiss, Brahms’ large hand cupped the side of your face, holding it in place as he pressed his face closer to your own in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Your lips began to meld in soft movements, Brahms’ grip on your hip tightening as the tip of his tongue grazed experimentally against your bottom lip, pulling an unintentional moan from the back of your throat. It’d been far too long since you’d kissed someone so intimately. His breath hitched at the euphoric sound you created, his hand moving from your cheek to the back of your head as he delicately gripped your hair. Bashfully, you opened your mouth, letting your own tongue run along the seam of his lips, to which he responded by sliding his own tongue against yours. You felt Brahms press his face closer to your own, his breathing getting heavier while he gave your hip a white-knuckle squeeze. Suddenly, he straddled on top of you, while keeping your lips connected. Lips now slick with saliva, his kissing became more unhinged, groaning as his clothed erection rutted against your inner thigh. As much as you would’ve liked for it to continue, you knew it would be too soon for you both to delve deeper into a sexual relationship. You whispered his name in between kisses, before eventually pushing your palm against his sternum. He lifted his head, keeping it inches away from your own as you both caught your breath. “It’s time for bed, Brahms,” you said breathlessly, cupping his right cheek with your small hand, your thumb brushing against his rough beard. He slumped forward, his moist lips brushing against your neck, “But… feels good..” he whispered, his breath still heavy in arousal while his concealed member still pulsated against your thigh. “I know,” you said, confessing to your own arousal, “But it’s bedtime, Brahms. We have to go to sleep.” He paused, before you felt him nod, “Okay.. I’ll be good..” he whispered, before sliding off your body, repositioning himself as the big spoon. With his erection still pressed against your back, you both eventually drifted off to slumber.</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15 - Shower Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>When I said slowly but surely in my last chapter notes... I lied. I meant quickly and most definitely. This chapter is almost entirely smut, so fair warning if you're not into that ¯\_(ツ)_/¯<br/>I've updated the tags accordingly.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You woke up to a familiar weight on you, similar to yesterday morning. However, this time you were laying on your back, majority of the sentient weight had clung to the right side of your body. Deeming your right arm and leg immovable, you lifted up your left arm to rub the sleep out of your eyes, yawning as Brahms began to stir from his own slumber. Just as you were stretching your muscles, preparing yourself for a new day, Brahms’ grip around your torso tightened while he further buried his face into the crook of your neck. “C’mon.. Time to wake up..” you said, your voice still hoarse, your vocal cords beginning to warm up. Just as you brushed your fingers through his messy bed hair, he shook his head, pressing his face into your neck. “We gotta get up Brahms… be productive an’ all that..” you said, to which he lifted his head up in response. He looked incredibly groggy, his eyes still half closed. He glanced down at your lips before leaning forward, but just as he was about to give you a kiss, you gripped him by his jaw, “You’re breath stinks,” you sighed, not wanting to get a mouth full of his morning breath, no matter how good it might’ve felt. He squinted at you disapprovingly before leaning above you, planting his face in your own unruly bed hair, inhaling deeply, “You smell good in the morning..” he admitted unabashedly, his fingers snaking under the hem of your shirt. You could feel the tent forming in his pyjama bottoms, but instead of hiding it away like the previous morning, he intently pressed it against your leg in an attempt to get some sort of pleasure from the friction it caused. “Well, you don’t,” you chuckled, hiding the arousal that formed at the pit of your stomach. “Can we shower together, then?” Brahms casually asked. Your eyes widened slightly at the suggestion, your nerves lighting ablaze. Something about the late-night canoodling had made Brahms more valiant and confident. “You’ve already seen me naked, twice to be exact.. It’s only fair,” he delineated, and you could feel his sly gaze from above your head, but then you frowned while looking towards the walls. “I’m not sure if that’s entirely truthful, Brahms..” you said, pointing an index finger towards the walls, “Don’t act like I don’t notice the gaps in between the woodworks,” you accused while looking up at him. You witnessed his confidence drain from his face, before he looked down at you with his innocent doe eyes like he just got caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. “I just wanna clean you is all, just like you clean me in the bath..” he said, his motivation to shower with you suddenly shifting. Lifting a brow at his change in demeanor, you sighed before conceding, “Fine…” Just as you were about to get up, Brahms’ grip on you tightened, “Not yet,” he demanded before planting his head back into your hair.</p><p>You both spent the next 30 minutes relaxing in bed, the birds chirping their usual tune outside. Brahms had his face firmly held against your head, constantly sniffing your hair while he played with it with one hand, the other grazing the skin of your stomach delicately with his fingertips. You would’ve found it to be a relaxing experience, but the ever-present, slightly throbbing erection held firmly against your thigh kept your heartbeat at a high tempo. You desperately wanted to help Brahms with his predicament, the idea of it was constantly playing in your head, but you knew it was too soon to go that far. Instead you laid there, denying both Brahms and your own arousal until you couldn’t take it anymore, sitting up with a huff. “C’mon, shower time..” you said, and halfway through your sentence Brahms had already jumped out of bed, pushing his hard member up in between the waistband of his pyjamas. Standing up, you found Brahms staring brazenly at your chest. Considering you never slept with a bra on, it was no surprise that your nipples appeared prominent, especially now that Brahms could witness you like this while the morning sun seeped in through the windows. Pursing your lips at him, you marched towards the en suite bathroom, Brahms following close behind. </p><p>Turning on the shower, you pinched the ends of your t-shirt, hesitating when you heard the door close behind you. As you were about to pull off your clothing, similarly to the effect of ripping off a bandaid, you felt eager hands grip the back of your shirt, pulling it up and off your head to your surprise. “Brahms-, I can undress myself!” you said in a half chuckle, turning your head around to find him already stark naked, “But you take so long to do so..” he said, towering over you. Leaning slightly forward, his eyes directing downward as he took in the sight of your now exposed breasts, “..and you’re so pretty,” he said, his voice lowering an octave as his hands snaked up to your ribcage. Before continuing, you heard him ask as his chin rested on your shoulder, “...Touch?” You shook your head while you loosened the waistband of your pyjama bottoms, letting them gather on the floor by your feet, “No, Brahms. Shower time,” you simply said, pulling the shower curtain aside while touching the running water. Finding the temperature to your liking, you stepped inside along with Brahms directly behind you. After letting the water splash against your face and hair, you reached for your shampoo, and just as you were about to open the cap, Brahms quickly took the bottle out of your hand. “Nuh uh, as I said, I’m cleaning you today,” he said while leaning above you, letting his own hair get wet under the shower head. Squeezing out a bit too much product into his hands, he rubbed them together before pushing them into your hair. Feeling the warm water run down your body, you felt your muscles relax under his surprisingly delicate touch, mimicking what you’d done for him during his baths. Running his fingertips along your scalp, all the way down to the back of your neck, you felt a pleasurable shiver run down your spine. He was careful not to let any shampoo go beyond your hairline, gathering the excess shampoo in his hands before dolloping it in his own hair, massaging it into his dark brown curls before washing out the shampoo on both your heads. </p><p>Next, he reached for your body wash, squeezing out a reasonable amount before lathering it in between his palms. He started by your collarbones, spreading outwards to your shoulders and then down your arms. Massaging under your armpits, he paused as his hands rested on your ribcage again, his chin returning to your shoulder. You nodded your head at the silent question, closing your eyes as his hands reached underneath your breasts, squeezing them tightly with his large hands. He softly grunted, his prolonged erection pressing against your rear as you felt his chest heave from heavy breaths. He watched as he played with your chest, the soap and water letting his hands glide easily over the soft surface, his thumb and index fingers quick to latch onto and pinch your nipples. You inhaled a deep breath, trying to moderate your nerves that were going haywire, relaxing your posture into Brahms’ broad shoulder. With his left hand still preoccupied by your breast, his right hand started roaming lower. Letting the suds guide down your stomach with his soapy fingers, you quickly gripped his wrist with your hand. His eyes widened, thinking he’d taken it a step too far. He was quick to start apologizing, only for you to cut him short, “The female genitalia is a sensitive thing..” you said, raising his hand up to the running water, “I only clean it with water,” you explained before repositioning Brahm’s hand on your stomach. His body remained frozen for a second, processing the new information as his hand began lowering towards your nether region again. His actions seemed more coy from then on, his left hand only delicately holding onto your breast while most of his mental processing focused on his right hand, letting it gently cup your swollen vagina, which was still aroused from that morning’s events.  He dipped his middle finger beyond your labia majora, gliding it slowly from your delicate entrance all the way to the hood of your clitoris, giving it an experimental push with the pad of his fingertip, squeezing your nipple when he felt your body tense. Pulling his hand away he let it drag over your hip before repositioning it on your vulva from behind. Brushing his hand back until his fingertips reached your rectum, he swiveled his fingers in a circular motion on your taught ring before explaining, “Have to make sure you’re all squeaky clean..” he sighed as he let his wet finger tips glide up the seam of your buttocks. You felt his right hand retract from your body, only to feel the head of his erection prodding at the soft muscle of your rear, his breath hitching by your ear while his left hand began massaging circles into your breast again. From the movement on his right shoulder, you could tell he was slowly touching himself. To Brahms’ own disapproval, once he started stroking himself, he couldn’t stop. As his pace soon quickened, he nudged his nose against your cheek until you turned your head, both of you connecting with a sloppy, breathy kiss. Harshly pinching your nipple, he forced your mouth open by a moan before quickly delving his tongue into your sopping wet mouth, your saliva intermingling with each other. Brahms was full of erotic noises, his desperate groans mixed with the wet, fast-paced slapping of his fist gripped around his member, which had reached a punishing pace. Seconds later, you felt Brahms’ entire body freeze, his grip on your breast and on his own erection tightening as he came, his thick semen quickly dribbling down your thigh along with the running shower water. He buried his forehead into your shoulder, his left hand retracting from your breast to wrap around your stomach while his post-nut clarity washed over him. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.. I didn’t intend on doing this-” he soon began babbling an apology, embarrassed over masturbating from his over encompassing arousal. You couldn’t help but chuckle, turning around to face him. “Brahms-... Brahms, please,” you said, cutting his apology short as you cupped his face with both of your hands, “It’s fine. You don’t have to apologise,” you said, looking deep into his eyes with a chipper smile. “It was.. hot,” you confessed, forcing yourself not to look away out of your own bashfulness. “It was.. okay?” he asked, green doe eyes looking down at you while he delicately clasped onto your wrists with his large hands, to which you responded with a reassuring nod. </p><p>Ever since that morning’s shower, Brahms had basically become a walking erection. You weren’t sure if he was like this because of the earlier events that took place, or whether he had always been like this but no longer felt the need to conceal it through the admittance of your own arousal, but either way you weren’t complaining. Whether you were cooking brunch or doing the dishes, Brahms’ hands were always all over you, either snaked up your shirt to grapple at your breasts through your bra, or preoccupied by squeezing the muscles of your inner thigh, his trouser bulge constantly finding a way to rut against your buttocks. Brahms had even suggested you read to him again, just so he could get the opportunity to smell your hair while having you sit on his concealed boner, your choice of wearing a skirt only heightening the experience. The only time your bodies weren’t pressed together was during dinner time, where you both sat opposite at the dinner table. Although, the prevalent dampness of your panties still kept a hum of arousal at the base of your stomach. You took this opportune time to discuss your plan for tomorrow, specifically when Malcolm would arrive. “Which do you think would be a better idea,” you said after swallowing a slice of carrot, “...should we keep your identity concealed from Malcolm, or do we see it as an opportunity for you to practice integrating back into society?” you asked with a head tilt. Brahms took a second to consider it, before shaking his head, “He’s loose lipped; he’d end up telling everyone at the local pub,” Brahms said, dabbing his mouth with a nearby cloth, “I’d rather keep all of.. this-,” he threw his hands up slightly, gesturing to himself and his home “-low-profile, at least until I’m ready to leave… rumours spread fast in this damned town..” he said the last portion under his breath before stabbing a piece of broccoli with his fork, and you simply nodded to his explanation. </p><p>Washing up the dishes after dinner, you were unsurprised to find Brahms planted firmly behind you, his hands snaked around your waist. He took one step back, and you soon felt a cool breeze on your backside when Brahms unabashedly lifted up your skirt. “Touch?”, he asked, his method of asking for consent similar to his favourite rule. “Go ahead, Brahms,” you said, feigning a relaxed demeanor, when in reality you had been waiting all day for something like this. Keeping your skirt in his left hand, he used his right hand to swipe his index and middle finger along your sodden panties before pulling his hand up to his face. You heard him deeply inhale, followed by an elongated, breathy moan. You soon listened to him slump to the tiled floors, scooching until his back leaned against the kitchen cabinet. By now, you’d completely abandoned the dishes, feeling his hot breath fan against your aroused pussy from his position beneath you, his head and shoulders hidden inside your skirt. Clasping his hands around your waist and ass, his grip was firm while he planted his face deeply against your moist panties, his nose prodding harshly against your engorged clitoris as he inhaled deeply again. His right hand let go of your hip, and was instead used to palm and push against his erection through his suit pants. Opening his mouth, he pushed his tongue against your entrance, a barrier or cotton separating you two. You gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, your legs turning to jelly at the sensation. His tongue began swiping up and down the lining of your panties, the sweet taste of your liquid arousal that had been collecting all day in your panties turning Brahms on even more, his grip on his concealed erection becoming more hectic. He began sucking on your panties, wanting to get every last drop of your erotic nectar, until after one last push against his erection, he felt himself unintentionally unraveling inside his pants. He moaned deeply, the vibrations of his voice permeating into your sex, causing your knees to slightly buckle. Feeling his hot seed pool inside his boxers, he sighed as a prominent wet patch started to form on his trousers. “We’ll need to have another shower tonight, darling..” he said begrudgingly, your heart fluttering at the pet name he called you.</p><p>
  
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wooho~ 15 Chapters! I'm genuinely surpised at how fun writing fanfiction is, especially since this is my first time writing it. Thank you for all the kind comments, I know I can come across as aloof from my silence, but it genuinely does make me happy to see that you're enjoying my story &lt;3</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16 - Special Boy</h2></a>
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    <p>While trying to join Brahms in the en suite bathroom, he quickly pushed you back out the doorway, “I don’t want you to waste your flavour-” he said with bated breath, giving you a look from head to toe, “Not yet… wait here,” he said quickly before shutting the door in your red, gobsmacked face. You slowly made your way to the edge of the bed, sitting in darkness while the moonlight illuminated your face. Was he finally going to quench your thirst? You felt yourself internally throb at the prospect, your thighs clenching together in anticipation while you sat there, waiting. Soon after, you heard the shower shut off, followed by Brahms aggressively swinging the door open. He bounded towards you, his hair still wet and only dressed in a fresh pair of boxers. Soon he had his hands on your shoulders, pushing you back against the mattress while he hovered above you. “I neglected you all day, Y/N.. but I promise it was for a reason,” he said while pulling your shirt up over your head, tossing it aside. “I figured…” he continued, pulling your bra up afterwards, not wanting to bother with the back clasps, “If I let it sit there, brewing..” referencing to your arousal, he soon dragged his attention to your breasts, grasping and pinching at them haphazardly, “It’d make it all worthwhile, right?” he said, tilting his head while his eyes made contact with your own hooded ones. You looked dazed, lost in a sea of lust once you realised you were getting what you deserved. “I don’t know if it even makes sense, but… I read it in a book once, that some women like it. They like it when they have to wait…” he said, beginning to ramble as his head lowered to your right breast, his lips clasping over your nipple before sucking it tenderly, his other hand still twisting and pinching the other nipple. His lips shortly pulled away with a small ‘pop’, “..so I hope you enjoyed that too, Y/N,” he said, looking back up at you for approval. You looked back down at him, giving him a coy smile while softly running your hand through his hair, “I did like it Brahms, you-… you drove me crazy,” you whispered. He smiled back in excitement, before drawing his attention to the lower part of your body. Flipping your skirt up to your stomach, he stared at your clothed vagina, your panties sticking to the intricate grooves of your anatomy from it’s sheer dampness. He swallowed, taking a mental photograph of what he’d witnessed before kneeling on the floor next to the bed. Pressing his face against your vulva, he deeply inhaled while his hand snaked down to his erection, pulling it out of it’s fabric encasing and giving it a few strokes. Shortly pulling his hand away, he gently rubbed an experimental thumb across your soaking entrance, eliciting a restrained gasp from your throat. Liking what he heard, his thumb reached the peak of your clitoris, softly rubbing it through your panties in circular motion, watching as your hips began to jerk from the sensation. You were incredibly sensitive from the prolonged, all-day foreplay, and you were on the edge of letting your entire body unravel beneath him. Wanting this experience to last, you tried regulating your breathing in hopes of calming your body down, taking in long gulps of air at a time. Grasping you by the hips, he pulled you closer to him before peeling away your panties. Prior to tossing them aside, he slowly stroked the soft, moist surface of your panties against his sensitive tip, drawing out a low groan from the feeling. Sighing, he regretfully threw the panties in the same direction of your shirt, bringing his attention back to your glistening entrance. Having never seen one in person, he couldn’t help but stare with curious eyes. Taking his two thumbs, he spread your lips apart cautiously, taking in the sight of your vagina’s composition. Soon realising what he was doing, your face flushed bright red in embarrassment, pushing his shoulder with your foot, “B-Brahms, it’s not kind to stare..” you whined, covering your face. “But.. you look so pretty, Y/N,” he said innocently, breaking eye contact with your exposed sex to look at your face. Looking back at your entrance, he licked his lips before lowering his head until his breath was fanning over your clitoris. Gingerly, he poked his tongue out until it came in contact with your clitoris. The warm, wet sensation of his muscle stroking your sensitive area made your hips jerk upward, causing the rest of his mouth to envelop your vagina. Enraptured by your flavour, he was quick to wrap his mouth over your clit, sucking and licking while you laid there, a gasping and twitching mess under his touch. His movements soon became ravenous and desperate. Lifting your hips up higher, his tongue poked at your heated entrance, before his long muscle plunged inside you. The feeling of your walls clenching around his tongue turned him on to no end, the taste of your juices causing his member to twitch erratically. His thumb now soaked by his saliva and your own natural lubricant, he began quickly massaging your clitoris in no discerning pattern. Minutes later, your walls instinctually clenched harshly around his swivelling tongue as you finally felt yourself finally unravel. You felt your entire body go taut as searing hot pleasure shot through every nerve ending in your body, your vision briefly turning blurry from the intense sensation. Feeling your hips shudder, followed by your unrestrained moaning, Brahms suddenly felt electricity shoot through his own spine, causing his back to arch when he felt his prostate and the base of his member feel a spark of pleasure, gasping as he unintentionally reached his own orgasm. Feeling his cum shoot out of his penis, he sighed as it dribbled down the base of his cock, along with the rest pooling on the dark wooden floor. Staying still in your current positions, breathing heavily as you both slowly collected yourselves. Brahms soon slowly pulled your skirt and socks off, leaving you laying there, naked and satisfied. Lifting himself off the floor, he pulled his own boxers off before draping himself over you, enveloping you in a warm, naked hug. </p><p>“Did I do good..?” Brahms asked breathlessly, his head resting right next to your own. “You did amazing, Brahms,” you praised, running your hand through his still wet hair. He gave your body a light squeeze at the compliment, before whispering, “Bed time..” and you simply replied with a yawn. Lifting yourself up, muscles tired from the previous activity, you both slipped under the covers before positioning yourself as the little spoon. “Kiss..” Brahms demanded, and so you turned your head around, this time giving him a small chaste kiss. It seemed even he was too tired to delve the goodnight kiss deeper. “Goodnight, Brahms..” was the last thing you said before drifting to sleep. </p><p>You awoke to the distant sound of knocking echoing throughout the empty mansion, shortly followed by the ringing of the estate doorbell. Your eyes shot open, you’d completely forgotten to set an alarm in preparation for Malcolm. Jumping out of Brahms’ grip, you threw on your silken robe over your naked form, tying it securely around your waist. “Brahms-... Brahms! You have to wake up!” you whisper-shouted as he groggily sat up. “You need to hide yourself, Malcolm’s outside,” you explained, and Brahms soon found himself shuffling off the bed, grabbing his boxers in his hurried process. Sprinting out of your bedroom, you quickly made your way down the flight of stairs until you reached the front door. Swinging it open, you were greeted to a gawking Malcolm. “I’m terribly sorry, Malcolm,” you said, still catching your breath, “I-I must’ve slept in,” you said, chuckling slightly. “Did I… disturb, anything?” Malcolm asked jokingly, looking at your half-awake form. You laughed in response, turning your body to the side as you welcomed Malcolm in. “Oh- Let me get that for you,” you said, walking out to the porch &amp; picking up one of the boxes of groceries. </p><p>Now situated in the kitchen, Malcolm handed you your weekly payment. “Has Brahms been keeping you busy, then?” Your eyes shot open at the question, before relaxing when you registered that he was talking about the doll. “Oh, you know how he is.. active as usual,” you chided nervously. “Where’s the doll, anyway? I would’ve thought he’d be stuck to your hip considering what happened last time,” Malcolm commented while putting the milk in the fridge. Your nerves spiked at the question, you’d completely forgotten about that blasted doll. “Uhm..” you heard soft shuffling inside the walls, you hoped that was Brahms scuffling to his room to retrieve it, just in case. “I just left him in his room, y’know.. figured it’d be a good place for him to stay,” you said, hearing a familiar creak from upstairs as you wrung your hands nervously. “Right..” Malcolm responded, taking a quick peek at your attire. Your face flushed a bright red, it wouldn’t be too difficult for him to mentally undress you, considering you were bare naked under a thin piece of silk. “It must be pretty lonely, y’know-” he said, pouring himself a cup of water, “-considering you’re stuck in this mansion on your own,” he said, taking a sip from his glass. You nibbled your lower lip as you heard the wall settle behind you, Brahms’ eyes burning the back of your neck through the walls. “I suppose that’s true, but I like reading, so it’s not all bad,” you said, folding your arms across your chest when a memory from last night flashed across your mind. “Honestly, I’d love to take you out sometime,” Malcolm suggested while leaning his elbows on the kitchen table, “It can’t be good for you to be cooped up with that.. Doll,” Malcolm continued, and you could only give him a small chuckle while shaking your head, “I really can’t…” you said while shrugging, “I mean- they’re paying me a pretty damn decent amount for all of this. Last thing I’d want to do is go galavanting on their dime y’know?” you explained, wincing slightly from knowing their true current circumstances. You just hoped your explanation was enough to get Malcolm off your back. He stood up with a sigh while tilting his head in resignation. “Fine, fine- it’s your call,” he said with a small smile, “It’s your loss,” he said with a wink before collecting the now empty boxes. “Really though, you have my number. Call me if you change your mind!” Malcolm said as he began leaving, “Goodbye, Malcolm!” you called out to him with a laugh before hearing him leave. You let out a deep sigh as you heard his car drive away, followed by the screeching of one of Brahms’ secret entryways. </p><p>Soon after you and Brahms had gotten fully dressed, you found him standing in front of the large windows in the sitting room again, staring at the estate gates. Holding two cups of tea, you stared at him before delicately placing them on the coffee table behind him. “Do you want to leave, Y/N?” he asked. It didn’t seem like a question asked out of insecurity, but more out of curiosity. “I mean.. that it is the eventual end goal, for the case. The sooner we can get you in London, the better,” you said with brutal honesty. “...and what’s your plan, for that?” he asked. You frowned in thought, before answering, “W-Well… my idea was to get you to practice in small steps, that’s why I suggested the possibility of you meeting Malcolm,” you informed while standing by his side, gently grasping his forearm. “Maybe we could try visiting the town nearby tomorrow, as practice?” you suggested with optimism. To your dismay, he gently shook his head, “..But I hate that town,” he said, looking down at you with a glum look, “They all… talk. They say rude things, and they’re all so quick to believe rumors,” he said, looking back towards the garden outside. You bit your lip in thought, unsure of how to follow to get him acclimated to the outside world. As you brain filed through other possibilities, Brahms spoke up, “I’d rather go straight to London. Avoid these folk altogether. At least in London, no one knows who I am,” Brahms said, to your genuine surprise. “B-Brahms, are you.. Are you sure?” you questioned, genuinely disbelieving the words that left his mouth. Looking down at the wooden floor, he grasped your hand as he contemplated deeply, before nodding. “Although I wish I could stay cooped up here for the rest of my life, I know my Y/N wouldn’t be happy doing that… and, I want to see where you live. I want to see your apartment,” he said, looking at you enthusiastically at the idea of seeing your living space. “This mansion.. It isn’t a home. It’s a prison my parents built for me. I want to escape with you,” he said, clasping onto both of your hands while he looked at you with determination. “W-We can do that, Brahms..” you responded, mouth still slacked in shock, “.. but we still have to take our time,” you said with a small chuckle, “I’m not sure if you realise it now, but it’ll be an overwhelming ordeal,” you described pragmatically. “We can think about it tonight, yeah?” you said, tilting your head to the side. “Yeah,” he simply responded before lifting you up in a bear hug. “Plus… I don’t want you anywhere near Malcolm again,” you heard him whisper by your ear, his grip on you strengthening. You couldn’t help but giggle at his jealousy. “Of course, Brahms. Whatever makes my special boy happy,” you said facetiously in response, feeling his breath hitch at the sarcastic pet name you gave him.</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17 - Phone Call</h2></a>
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    <p>Compared to the day beforehand, Brahms’ libito was much more relaxed. You figured he might’ve released a lot of his sexual tension yesterday. Although, throughout the day he still remained by your waist, hugging you from behind as you both went through your daily chores. After dinner, Brahms snuggled you tightly as you laid across the sofa while you read him another book. When the last chapter for that night came to an end, you inserted the bookmark before gently closing the book, placing it on the nearby coffee table. Nibbling at your gum, you clasped your hands over his arms that were secured around your torso. “So.. have you had any time to think, about.. leaving?” you asked cautiously. Brahms remained silent and unmoving as he thought through his next words. Planting his nose in your hair, he inhaled your comforting scent before continuing, “I-... I think so… There really isn't much room for, um.. certainty, is there?” he questioned and you paused, giving your next words a second thought. “It’ll be.. overwhelming. That’s for sure. Once we arrive back in London, I’ll have a lot of work to do with Sherlock,” you said, giving Brahms’ arm a comforting squeeze as his grip on you tightened. “I won’t be around as often as you’d like,” you continued, Brahms’ face remaining planted in your hair. “What’s… what’s Sherlock like..?” Brahms asked out of curiosity, making your eyebrows raise in thought. “Well, I-.. he’s.. cold. That’s how the general population would describe him as, but.. he’s a good friend of mine. A lot of our colleagues consider him my older brother,” you chuckled, thinking back on the many times Sherlock unnecessarily defended you in the workplace. Brahms just silently nodded before continuing, “I’ll have to see my parents again, back in London.. I’m correct in assuming that..?” he asked. “Yes.. you are correct, but only through court. Unless.. You’d want to see them outsi-” “No.. I really don’t want to see them.. I want to avoid them as much as possible,” Brahms cut your question short. “I want to… to come to terms with the fact that what Mummy and Daddy did to me was wrong…” Brahms said as his arms around your torso held on you tighter. “If I see them, they might.. try to convince me otherwise…” he said before inhaling your scent again, in order to keep himself calm and collected. “When.. d’you reckon you’d be ready?” you asked, turning your head so you could look directly into his eyes. Looking back and forth between your own pair of eyes, he stared at you in contemplation until his face turned into determination. “As soon as possible. I.. I want my Y/N to be happy, even if it means leaving,” he said with an affirmative tone. You were still shocked by his determination, the same kind he showed earlier on that day. With your eyebrows raised, you stared back. “S-So.. I’ll.. give Sherlock a call, then? If you’re sure?” you said as you felt Brahms’ grip around you loosen. “I’m.. I’m sure,” Brahms said, giving you the most confident smile he could muster given the circumstances. Crawling out from his lap, you smiled back at him before marching up to your room, reaching for your landline.</p><p>Pacing around your room, you’d dialed Sherlock’s number. Only a few seconds go by before he answers. “Y/N? Is everything alright?” Sherlock questions immediately, and you couldn’t help but laugh, “I’m fine, Sherly, really. There’s no need to worry,” you glanced by the door frame to find that Brahms was quick to follow you, standing right outside your door. You smiled at him, gesturing that he was allowed to come in. “I actually have some good news for once,” you said as Brahms made his way by your side. “He.. Brahms, he’s ready to leave,” you said with delight as Brahms’ arms snaked his way around your waist. “What time will I be collecting you, then?” Sherlock asked. “Hmm… maybe.. 2pm?” you said, squinting up at Brahms in uncertainty. He responded with a nod, so you confirmed, “Yes.. 2pm, just to give us enough time to.. Y’know, collect his things,” you said, taking mental note to go through Brahms’ collection tomorrow morning. “Perfect, I’ll show up in a cab tomorrow. Don’t keep me waiting,” Sherlock said sternly. Just as you were about to respond, you felt Brahms’ hands raise to your chest, squeezing your breasts gently which caused you to gasp softly over the phone. “Y-Yes, of course, Sherly. I-I’ll.. Ah, see you tomorrow!” you said quickly as you felt Brahms’ fingers press against your nipples. Hearing the line go dead on your end, Sherlock could only frown at your unusual behavior as he looked at the ‘call ended’ on his phone screen. </p><p>“Brahms- You can’t be doing that while I’m on the phone!” you said as you giggled, softly hitting him on his broad chest. “I’m sorry, Y/N… I couldn’t help myself,” he said he continued fondling you, pressing the tent in his suit pants against your side. “I suppose.. You wouldn’t mind being rewarded for being such a good boy today..?” you asked, trying to push down your nerves with your sudden rush of confidence. He looked down at you with his big doe eyes, almost in shock. He hesitated slightly, his breath caught in his throat in excitement before nodding. You gently pushed him by his waist until he sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his elbows. Kneeling down on your knees, you were quick to unbutton his trousers, glad that he had an aversion to wearing belts, and you partially pulled down his pants along with his boxers until his erection laid flat against his stomach. Although you’d felt it poke and prod against your body, you never fully realised how big he truly was until now, the slick tip of his member reaching his belly button, which was nestled in the forest of his happy trail. You were unsurprised to discover his pubic hair matched the rest of his body hair, and if anything you welcomed the curly locks that gathered at the base of his shaft. Gently, you grasped at the base of his cock, his body already rustling at the soft touch of your hands as you lifted his erection towards your face, your other hand gripping his thigh for support. You gave his head an experimental lick, resulting in a small gasp from Brahms as his fists grew taut by his sides. His flavour was salty, but otherwise pleasant. You were glad you’d gotten him into general hygiene, you weren’t sure if you’d put yourself in this position otherwise. Slowly, you sunk your mouth over his head, your tongue swiping across his frenulum, which drew out a small groan from the back of Brahms’ throat. He slowly laid back onto the mattress’ plush surface, his forearms laying across his eyes as he tried to control his irregular breathing. You could feel his blood pumping through his member under your grip around his shaft. Your head lowered further down his erection until it poked the back of your throat. You tentatively sucked on his erection before pulling your head back, you tongue swiping across his urethra that was continually leaking clear pre-cum. His whole body was slightly trembling from the sensation; you could tell he was holding himself back. Massaging both your hands over his exposed hips, you sucked his penis back into your mouth, revelling as he deeply inhaled from the feeling of your mouth surrounding him. You began lifting and lowering your head in a repetitive motion, your thick saliva being pulled from the back of your throat until it began to trickle down the exposed part of his shaft. Taking your right hand, you began massaging the part of his member your mouth couldn’t reach as your pace began to increase, his hips twitching upwards in an attempt to get even more pleasure from your actions. The sultry sounds of your sucking, along with his tender gasps and moans, you found your own heartbeat racing from the experience, your eyes closing as you found yourself at a good pace. As Brahms’ breath began to heave, his forehead covered in a light layer of sweat, he suddenly sat up and pulled your mouth away from his sodden erection by your hair. He toward above you, his cock standing proud as he reached for your blouse and ripping it apart, along with your bra with ease. His actions almost seemed unhinged as his grip returned to the back of your head, directing his penis towards your lips which were now lubricated by a thick layer of your own saliva. Pushing it in your mouth, you could feel his member get heavier with pressure as he began thrusting into your mouth sloppily. Seeing you in this position on your knees with your plush breasts exposed, he couldn’t help but be sent over the edge so quickly. Soon after he pulled his member out of your mouth, he harshly began jerking himself off, positioning his tip against your collarbone. With a unrelented, guttural moan, he released himself across your chest and breasts, coating you with his white, hot semen. “So.. pretty..” he whispered while he caught his breath, squeezing out a last few drops before he returned from his lustful trance. Once he did, his eyes widened at the image before him. “S-Sorry, I-” he said as he softly gestured you to stand up, looking at your torn garments sitting on the floor behind you, “I’m.. so sorry, I just.. I fantasized about doing that for so long, I just… I couldn’t help myself” he said, trying to explain himself in defence. You could only giggle as you felt his cum dribble down your sternum. “Brahms, please. It was- It’s fine.. I enjoyed it,” you said reassuringly. “But.. your blouse..?” he said, his tone slightly worried. “Never liked it,” you said nonchalantly before waltzing towards the bathroom. “Are you joining me then, Brahms? We have to get ready for bedtime.”</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18 - New Location</h2></a>
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    <p>Last night, you made sure to set an alarm after you gave Brahms a kiss goodnight. Luckily, you hadn’t slept through it, and was instead groggily awoken by the unpleasant noise that morning. Fumbling, you gripped your phone before turning off the alarm. Rubbing your hands across your face, you sighed heavily as your brain slowly woke itself up. Attempting to sit up, you were soon pinned to the mattress by Brahms’ heavy weight. “Braaahms,” you whined, trying to push him off by his shoulders, but to no avail. All he did was shake his head, his curls flopping from side to side as he buried himself in your bare chest. Running your fingers through his hair, you delicately gripped onto his curls while pulling up his face from your breasts, “We have an important schedule today, Brahms. We don’t have time to be fooling around,” you said sternly, but still gave him a kind smile when his sulking eyes met yours, “We can wait to ‘play’ back in my apartment,” you whispered your sultry promise, which made his eyes widen as he shot up, his feet planting firmly to the floor next to the bed. Your ears burnt red as his evidence of excitement bounced from his sudden movement, innocent eyes staring down at you when he reached out a helping hand. “Shall we shower, then?” he asked.</p><p>Showered and dressed, you tasked Brahms to decide which parts of his collection he wanted to bring with him while you packed your own bags. It was still relatively early, so you had plenty of time to get fully organised. With your clothes, toiletries and technology packed, you smiled at your reflection in the full body mirror, feeling comfortable in your achromatic suit. Having not heard from Brahms, you quickly made your way to his bedroom. Upon entering, you found him sitting on the dusty floor by his bathroom sink. He was separating his collection of books into two, deciding which ones will come with him, and which ones will stay. “Brahms,” you spoke up. His head shot up to see your arms folded as you walked towards him, “Books aren’t a necessity. You only have so much space in your suitcase,” you explained, squatting down to his level. He gave you a pitiful look, “... I have a kindle at home, you can read all of these online,” you explained before sighing. “...Pick three. It’ll be a long journey to London,” you conceded, finding it hard to say no to his puppy-like stare. He smiled in satisfaction, easily combing through part of his collection of books to pick his top 3 favourites. Just as you were about to leave, he spoke up. “Um.. d’you reckon I should.. bring this?” he questioned, mask in hand. Looking at it, you couldn’t help but blush as a few ideas washed through your mind, “Um.. if you want, I have no objections,” you said nonchalantly. He nodded, placing it gently on the suitcase he borrowed from his parents. “No bringing that doll, though. Gives me the creeps,” you commented as you opened the flimsy door. “Wasn’t planning on it,” he responded with a small smirk. </p><p>After you assessed and confirmed what Brahms was allowed to bring along with him on his journey, you zipped his suitcase up with a satisfied sigh. “We’ll have to do some shopping in London..” you said to yourself in thought, “You can’t keep borrowing my shampoo forever,” you chided jokingly, ruffling Brahms’ hair as he leaned into your touch. “I looked through the mansion, everything should be locked up and secured..” you said, checking your mental checklist before looking at your wristwatch which read 13:39. “He’ll be arriving soon.. You sure you’ll be alright?” you asked tenderly while sitting next to him on the bed. Brahms picked at his cuticles, avoiding eye contact. He was visibly nervous about the whole ordeal. You gently placed your index finger under his chin, directing his gaze towards you. “I’ll be here to assure everything goes okay for you, alright Brahms? I made you a promise, and I plan on keeping it,” you reassured Brahms when you saw just how nervous he was through his worried eyes. His lips slightly upturned into a smile, his forehead resting against your own until you both morphed into a warm embrace. You held him there for a few minutes, rubbing small circles on his broad back, inhaling the sweet fabric softener on his favourite green cardigan. He slowly pulled back from the embrace, his eyes glancing between your own, and towards your lips. Slowly, he leaned forward and gave you a delicate kiss on the lips, your heart fluttering at the tender moment as your hands brushed through his soft curls. </p><p> </p><p>Soon after your lips separated, you heard Sherlock’s cab pull into the driveway, followed by 3 sturdy knocks on the front door. “You ready?” you asked Brahms as you stood up, gripping onto your suitcase. “Of course,” he nodded, standing up with you. “Please,” he said as his hand reached for your suitcase handle, “Allow me,” he said with a chipper smile. Your face flushed a soft pink at the sudden gentlemanly gesture. You nodded, and soon Brahms had both of your suitcases lifted with his strong arms, both of you making your way to the front door. With both of Brahms’ hands preoccupied by the heavy luggage, you opened the door for him to find Sherlock standing on the porch, his back facing towards you with his hands clasped behind his back. Looking over his shoulder, you heard his whisper a small “Oh” under his breath. “Didn’t keep me waiting long. Good,” he commented, glancing between you and Brahms. “Let’s get a move on,” Sherlock said, quickly making his way down the staircase. Locking the door behind you with the spare key that the Heelshires gifted you, you placed a supportive hand on the small of Brahms’ back. He clenched his jaw as he stared at the estate gates, swallowing before he made his first step down the stone staircase. As Brahms pushed your luggage into the boot of the car, you situated yourself in the middle seat in the back of the cab next to Sherlock, “Missed me, then?” you said, nudging his side with your elbow. “Sick of you already,” he responded under his breath as you slyly leered at him. Hearing the boot of the car shut, Brahms made his way to the open door next to you, hesitating as he stood by the entryway. You gave him a kind smile, patting the empty seat next to you. Awkwardly, he leaned down as he made his way into the cab, and once he sat down you’d then realised just how much space he took up, causing you to touch shoulders with the two tall men. Closing the door after him, the driver started the engine and you soon realised you were truly in it for the long ride. The first thing you noticed was the smell of Sherlock’s cologne intermingling with you and Brahms’ shared body wash. Sherlock appeared more displeased if anything by the close contact, while you could tell Brahms was flustered just from the mere body heat that was radiating off of him. </p><p>“Did you get up to anything during my departure, then?” you directed your question towards Sherlock, genuinely curious as to his whereabouts while you were preoccupied. “Managed to imprison a kiddy diddler that was visiting the town, other than that, just typical experiments,” Sherlock mentioned casually while staring out the window. “Oh, well.. That’s something, at least..” you said, frowning in thought before your eyes shot wide open, “Oh Sherly- Please don’t tell me you left the bloody room in a mess!” you said while gawking at him. Just from his avoiding eyes, you could tell he’d done what you hoped he didn’t. “It’s the maid’s job to deal with those things..” he mumbled to himself, causing you to purse your lips in anger. “Sherlock! The poor woman’s probably traumatised by the things you left behind…” you said as you rubbed your temples, leaning back on your headrest. “It was only two toes..” he muttered, “Sherly..” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “And an eyeball..” “SHERLOCK!” you exclaimed, you couldn’t believe he’d leave body parts behind, out of all things. Brahms could only stare at the two of you, watching as your two different personalities collided in conversation. </p><p>Just like your journey to Sheffeild, the rest of the car ride was relatively quiet. You and Brahms kept yourselves preoccupied by reading a book together, although you both kept the dialogue in your heads for Sherlock’s sake. While the drive was relatively innocent all the way, Brahms’ firm grip on your thigh kept your ears tinted a constant pink the entire way. You knew he probably did it out of nerves, but you couldn’t help but be flustered by the intense contact. By the time the car stopped in front of your apartment complex, the sun had begun to set. Brahms was quick to open the car door and shuffle outside, and just as you were about to join him, Sherlock gripped you by the wrist. “I’ll need you at my place tomorrow, preferably by noon,” Sherlock said sternly. “But- Sherly, I still need to situate Brahms in his new living space- Who knows how long it’ll take for him to get comfortable,” you replied in a whisper, your brows furrowed at Sherlock’s demand. “Fine. 5 o’ clock, take it or forget it,” Sherlock said, giving you a strict compromise. You glanced behind you, seeing Brahms stuck in place while he took in his immediate surroundings, his hands fidgeting with the ends of his sleeves. Pursing your lips, you looked back at Sherlock while harshly pulling your sleeve from his grip. “Alright, fine. But no promises,” you said with a pointed finger. Getting out of the cab, you leant down, “I’ll update you if anything changes,” you said before shutting the door in his face. While the taxi driver retrieved your luggage for the both of you, you glanced up at Brahms’ glossed over expression. You could tell he was overwhelmed by his new surroundings, his brain quickly processing all of the new information as fast as it could. You gently held his hand, “Everything will be alright, Brahms,” you said in an attempt to relax his tense expression. Accepting your luggage from the cab driver with a small thank you, you soon saw the taxi peel away from the sidewalk, taking Sherlock back to his destination. Looking back up at Brahms, he peered down at you with a worried expression. “C’mon, let’s get you inside,” you said with a smile, rolling both of your suitcases towards the elevator, which to your luck was not out of order that day. </p><p>Even just experiencing an elevator for the first time put Brahms on edge, both his hands gripping tightly on your shoulders as you ascended to your floor. “C’mon Brahms, it’s alright,” you said as you guided him down the hallway until you reached your apartment door. Fumbling with your keys, you realised you were pretty anxious about the situation yourself. Eventually getting your key in the keyhole, you unlocked your door and pushed it in with your shoulder. Brahms helped you get your suitcases inside by the small hallway that lead into your conjoined living room and kitchen. Kicking off your shoes while closing your front door, you watched as Brahms took off his own shoes before slowly walking into your living room, taking in the unique, modern decor while his hands still fidgeted with a loose thread on his sleeve. “It.. It smells like you,” was the first thing he commented, making eye contact with you while a gentle smile displayed on his face. “Yep.. it’d be weird if it didn’t,” you replied nonchalantly. “Oh! We should get our luggage sorted..” you said as you pulled Brahms’ suitcase into your room, Brahms following you in tow. Opening your bedroom door, you winced at the state it was in. “Future me can sort that out,” you remembered those words you said on the day you left. Under different circumstances, you wouldn’t care about the mess, but you felt embarrassed that your guest had to see it like this, especially a rich heir to a large estate. “Uhm… it usually doesn’t look like this, I promise,” you said nervously as you began gathering the piles of clothes that were strewn across your bed. “I wasn’t um.. expecting to bring home guests after this case,” you said as you began hanging your clothes inside your wardrobe. “Oh, Y/N, there’s no worries,” Brahms said with a slight chuckle as he walked inside from the doorway, “You’re too quick to forget the state of my bedroom when you first saw it,” Brahms reminded you as he began gingerly folding your clothes. “Well, considering you had to live in that small space for 20 years, I could excuse anything,” you said as you moved your shoes into their respective holders. </p><p>After you organised your room with Brahms’ help, you were both seated on your couch, cuddling up together. Brahms was enamoured by the TV you had, constantly flicking in between different channels once he got acquainted with the remote. “Welp, I’m famished..” you said as you stood up, waltzing towards the kitchen. “Want anything?” you asked as you opened your cupboard. “Uhm.. anything’s fine,” Brahms said, his jaw slack as he continued scrolling through channels. You nose scrunched when you realised there wasn’t much to make a meal for two, especially when you saw how barren your fridge was. “Pizza tonight it is..” you mumbled to yourself before pulling your phone out from your back pocket. You watched Brahms as he settled on a news channel, you weren’t sure if he’d even blinked yet since he first was introduced to the new technology. You could only imagine how he’d react to the playstation in your office. Calling your favourite nearby pizzeria, you placed an order for a large mozzarella; you wanted to keep it simple, considering it’ll most likely be his first. Hunkering down next to Brahms on the couch, you rested your head on his shoulder. “How’re you finding all of this, so far?” you asked, you could feel your eyes getting heavy. “It’s.. good. I like it here,” he said, directing his eyes away from the TV, “... it’s a bit small, though,” he said with a small smirk. You couldn’t help but snort at his comment, “C’mon.. How could I top a large mansion?” you replied in defence. He laughed in return, before focusing on your drowsy expression. “Are you tired, darling?” he asked, your pet name drifting off his tongue smoothly. “Oh- um,” you hesitated while rubbing your eyes, “A little bit.. I suppose I’ve just been worried about you all day,” you explained truthfully before slumping back against the couch, “I’m proud of you, Brahms. You’ve done so well lately,” you complimented him while rubbing his back softly. His face flushed red at the commendation, his eyes looking towards the ground. </p><p>Soon after, you heard a familiar knock on the door. Excited for your take-out, you scuttled towards your front door. “Jacooob!” you welcomed your friendly delivery man, who’d normally visited at least once a week due to your eating habits. “I was getting worried when I didn’t hear from you these past few weeks. Thought you’d moved on to a bigger, better pizzeria,” Jacob responded with a chuckle. Although Brahms couldn’t see the mystery man, he found himself deeply interested in how you interacted with the people around you. “Yeah, you know how Sherlock can be. Takes me away from my office whenever it’s convenient for him,” you said in a jovial tone. “Anyway, thanks for the delivery, ‘preciate it!” you said, before closing the door, pizza box in hand. “Dinner’s ready,” you said sarcastically as you entered your living room again, “Sorry it’s not my cooking for tonight,” you said as you sat down next to Brahms, opening the cardboard box to a steaming, freshly made cheese pizza. “I promise I’ll cook for you once we do our shopping tomorrow,” you explained as you pulled a slice from the circle. “Say ‘aaah’,” you said jokingly, holding the end of the pizza towards Brahms’ face. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth before taking a bite, a myriad of expressions forming on his face as he processed the new intense flavours. “London’s finest MSG,” you said before taking a bite out of the same slice. </p><p>After you and Brahms polished off the pizza, you could feel your drowsiness take full force. “Alright.. now’s the time for bedtime. C’mon, Brahms,” you said as you pat his thigh before standing up and stretching. Turning off the TV, he followed behind you as you made your way to your bedroom. “Your pyjamas should be in there,” you said, pointing to the top drawer that you made space for Brahms’ clothing, “I’ll be a minute,” you said as you gathered a t-shirt and shorts, bolting to your bathroom which was opposite to your bedroom. After clambering into your pyjamas and brushing your teeth, you soon found Brahms already tucked into your bed into his soldier position, wearing his baby blue pyjamas. His doe eyes stared into your soul as he watched you turn off the main light before crawling under your duvet, turning onto his side as you got yourself comfortable under your familiar sheets. “Kiss,” Brahms whispered, keeping eye contact with you. You smirked, “Do your rules apply even outside of your mansion?” you questioned with a raised eyebrow. He replied with a small nod. “You rich boys always get what you want,” you said as you lightly poked the tip of his nose. “I’ll be a good boy for you if I do,” he responded with a sly smile. “That’s not how the world works,” you replied, “But for you.. I’ll indulge you a bit,” you whispered as you leaned in, pressing a tender kiss on his lips. He placed a hand on the side of your face, holding you in place as he parted his lips. Letting him enter your mouth, he softly groaned at the feeling of your tongues intertwining. “Alright Brahms, that’s enough for tonight,” you giggled as you pulled your lips away from his own, “We have a busy day tomorrow, we need our rest,” you said, licking the excess saliva off your lips. “Okay Y/N.. I’ll be good,” he whispered in return. “Good,” you said as you leaned over him to turn off the lamp on your nightstand. In that moment, he gripped your torso, burying his face in your chest. “B-Brahms! You said you’d be good,” you giggled as he inhaled your scent before releasing you from his grip. “Sorry.. the opportunity was staring right at me,” he admitted as you both situated yourselves in the spooning position, his erection boldly pressed against your rear. Ignoring his pulsating member to the best of your ability, you whispered “Goodnight Brahms,” before drifting off to sleep.</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19 - Excursion</h2></a>
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    <p>Hearing your alarm blaring in your ears, you rolled over on your side to reach for your phone. Switching off your alarm with a groan, you flopped onto your back as you stretched out your limbs, your muscles waking up with you. Glancing to your right, you felt your heart sink when you realised the bed was missing a second person. You immediately jumped to your feet, swinging your bedroom door open as you dashed down the slim hallway. You stopped in your tracks when you witnessed the sight of Brahms snuggled up on the couch, one of your spare blankets draped over his hunched shoulders and head. “Brahms..” you whispered as you caught your breath from your sudden spike in adrenaline. “Ah, Y/N!” Brahms said gleefully, diverting his attention from the TV towards you. He stood up, still in his pyjamas, and picked up a tray from the coffee table that held a full breakfast for two. “‘Morning! I uh, made this for us,” he said, showing you the tray of food. Considering your lackluster ingredients, he managed to pull together a very decent beans on toast. “C’mon, sit!” he directed, placing the tray back down before slumping back on the sofa, draping the blanket back in it’s former position. Slowly, your dazed mind began piecing things together, a grateful smile erupting on your face as he patted his strong thighs, suggesting you to sit on his cross-legged lap. You obliged him, skipping over until you sat in your seat, back flush against his broad chest, arms surrounding you in a warm hug. He was especially cheerful this morning. Pressing play on the TV, he reached beyond you to carefully pick up a slice of butter and bean covered toast, cautious not to drop any of the sauce. “Say ‘aaah’”, Brahms said, holding the toast in front of your mouth. Awkwardly, you opened your mouth to which he gently placed a small portion of it in your mouth, letting you take a bite before he retracted the slice back to him, taking his own much bigger bite. He continued to feed you and himself, wiping away any stray droplets of sauce that fell onto your chin with his thumb while you both watched the morning news. Although it was an entirely new experience to be taken care of like this, you still welcomed it. You felt warm. </p><p>Dusting off the crumbs on his hands onto the plate before you, he rubbed your shoulders before gently patting them, “Shower time,” he softly sang to you before lifting you up in his arms, blanket falling back onto the couch. “Woah! B-Brahms!” you exclaimed at your sudden shift in gravity, finding yourself cradling his upper torso, his arms under your buttox to support your weight. “What’s gotten into you, Brahms?” you asked with a giggle, looking directly at him. “I don’t know.. I just feel fresh today, I suppose?” he replied with a question while walking to the bathroom. Placing you down on the cool tiled floors, he rummaged through your cabinet and pulled out two sets of towels. “I also wanted to take care of you, for today at least,” he commented, making you take note that this won’t exactly be a daily thing. You smirked before turning to your shower bath, turning on the water and making sure the temperature was just right. As you did so, you felt a pair of hands spread across your waist and smoothly push your shorts down, before sliding up your ribcage until your t-shirt slipped off your head. Face already blushing a tinge of red, his hands snaked to your chest, where his hands began massaging slowly. “Sorry… I tried to be good,” Brahms said, his chin resting on your head, “But I can’t help but.. indulge myself..” he said whilst thumbing your nipples, “Especially when you smell so,” he took a deep whiff of your hair, “...exquisite this morning.” You both stood there for a minute while he groped and fondled your breasts, your body going limp from his touch. You could feel the head of his hot erection pressing against the small of your back, the tip spreading his slick precum on your back as it continued to throb harmoniously with his heartbeat. “Bend over,” he demanded, alluding to the edge of the bathtub as he got on his knees. “..Please?” he said with a more tender expression, to which you agreed by leaning over, your torso leaning on the rim of the tub with your hands gripping on it tightly. Brahms was quick to put his hands back on you, his thumbs spreading your wet vagina wide open, on display for him. You could feel his hot breath unfurling against your entrance, taking his right hand away to gather a large amount of saliva on his long index finger. Keeping your ass spread with his left hand, he stared unblinking as you felt his thick finger enter your slowly, causing your asscheeks to clench at the sudden intrusion. “Y’know, when I woke up this morning,” he said, enthralled as he watched his finger disappear and reappear from your sopping entrance,  “You looked so pretty, fast asleep..” he continued, the thumb on his left hand pressing against your rectum. “I couldn’t help but touch myself, while watching you sleep,” he continued. Your eyes shot open, feeling a sudden spark of excitement fly down to the base of your stomach from the newfound knowledge of his morning activities. “You just looked so innocent.. had no clue what effect you were having on me,” he whispered, the pace of his finger increasing before tenderly inserting his middle finger along with his index. “I just had to make you breakfast, as a way of saying thank you for looking so enthralling, enough to make me climax right next to you in the same bed,” he murmured, the coil in your stomach tightening from his lewd words. “B-Brahms..” you moaned softly, your words getting caught in your throat when you felt his fingers curl up against your sweet spot. Suddenly, he drew his digits out of you until they were quickly replaced by his tongue and lips, lapping up your sweet juices while his incredibly slick fingers gave intense attention to your unstimulated clitoris. With the sudden shift in sensation, you felt your nerves light on fire, the coil in your stomach clenching further and further until you eventually felt it break from Brahms’ unrelenting fingers and tongue. As your hips twitched erratically from your orgasm, Brahms continued to suck on your lips until he swallowed every last drop of your liquid arousal. With a satisfied sigh, Brahms stood up and leaned against your back until his mouth was right by your ear, “You are precious to me, Y/N,” he whispered while rubbing a soothing pattern on your upper arm as you came down from your natural high. </p><p>Throughout your shower together, you were elated by your surprise reward in the bathroom, along with Brahms’ fingers now massaging your shampoo into your hair, his fingernails lightly grazing across your scalp. One thing that stayed on your mind was Brahms’ ever-present erection that had remained unattended ever since he ate you out. With your bodies now soapy with body wash, you hugged your bodies close together before looking directly up at him, “I think it’s my turn to take care of you, Brahms.” you stated, your arms still latched around his waist. He could only stare back down at you, an innocent glossiness to his eyes. “But I-.. You were supposed to be the only one to get rewarded this morning, I already had the pleasure of touching myself while you slept,” he explained matter-of-factly, although his member betrayed his innocence when you felt it twitch against your thigh. “Let me do this, Brahms. It was me who was tasked to look after you,” you whispered as your soapy hand trailed down his hairy happy trail. Running your fingers through his pubic hairs, which was lathered in soap, you witnessed Brahms’ gaze turn sultry as your hand smoothly glided against his long shaft. Watching his chest heave from his heavy breathing, you took notice of one of his perky nipples which had been exposed from the water that ran over his soapy exterior. Slowly, your mouth enveloped his pink, sensitive nipple, his breath hitching at the new sensation. You could feel his thick cock spasm slightly as his heart skipped a beat, making sure to keep a steady pace as your tongue flicked against the sensitive nub, infatuated by the salacious noises coming from Brahms. “Ah-.. Y/N, that feels so..” he sharply inhaled and bit his lip, cutting his sentence short as he felt his own climax almost reach its peak just from you delicately biting his nipple, his back arching from the feeling. With your free hand, you reached for his ignored left nipple, pinching it tenderly as you began to suck on his other, the slick pumping of your grip around his penis increasing in speed. Brahms’ mouth fell slack, a small, shrill moan escaping his throat as he finally came, thick ropes of ejaculate landing on your upper thigh and hip bone. You looked up at him with a sly smile, giving his nipple one last suck before releasing it with a pop, watching as a small hickey began to form on the sensitive bud. “I’m guessing you enjoyed that then?” you said with a confident smirk as you felt the viscous fluid reach your feet. Brahms’ face quickly resembled a ripe tomato before picking you up in a bear hug, kissing you along your cheek, jaw and neck. “P-Please do that again next time.. It-.. It felt amazing,” he whispered in your ear, and you couldn’t help but giggle at his pleading. </p><p>After you’d showered and gotten dressed, Brahms found himself glued to the TV again. Stuffing your feet into your shoes, you exhaled heavily while slapping your thighs softly. “Well, Brahms.. It’s time to head out,” you said warily, watching as his figure turned towards you, his eyes staring back at you before looking down at the carpeted floor. “Should I..” he hesitated, “Is there a way to.. cover this?” he said, pointing to the scars across his face. You frowned, quickly sitting next to him on the sofa before placing supportive arms on his shoulders. “Brahms, you shouldn’t force yourself to hide your scars,” you said while looking at him with determination, “I know it’ll be scary, going out into the world for the first time.. And I know people might stare, but I want you to know that they’re not staring at you because you look different; they’re staring at you because they have something wrong within themselves,” you stated, making sure his vision doesn’t stray from your own. “I know you grew up with a.. unique history,” you said, tilting your head at your choice of words, “But you’re not alone in this case. There are people out there just like you,” you said, his big doe eyes staring back at you. “Besides.. They’ll probably be staring at you because you’re so handsome,” you said with a sheepish smile. Brahms grinned in embarrassment in return, his ears turning pink as he gently pushed your arm, “Shut up..” he mumbled. “But it’s true!” you said in defence, ruffling his thick curls before standing up from your seated position. “Now c’mon, get your shoes on. It’s time to go shopping,” you said as you held out a helping hand. </p><p>Exiting the elevator, Brahms had a firm grip on your hand as you both walked down the street. He almost forgot to blink as he took in his surroundings, his mouth agape in wonder as he took in the landscape and the people that walked by. “It’s so.. loud,” he commented when you both made it to the bustling main street. You paused, thinking about your course of action. “Hmm.. clothes first?” you asked, tilting your head up at Brahms’ pouting expression. Throughout your clothes shopping excursion, you soon realised Brahms’ fixation towards sweaters and turtlenecks. You picked out a few things to give him variety, such as new shirts, shoes, pyjamas, jeans, underwear, etcetera. Placing the large collection of clothes on the checkout counter, you pulled out your wallet in order to pay until you heard a small “Oh!” from Brahms, who stood closely behind you. He fished into his back pocket and pulled out a sleek, platinum credit card. “Mummy and Daddy gave me this before they left,” he said as handed it to you, “They said to hold onto this carefully, just in case,” he explained. You looked down at the card in apprehension, before looking back up at him, “A-Are you sure, Brahms?” you asked, and he raised a cocky eyebrow that read ‘I’m definitely sure’ in response. You smirked at his smugness before tapping the card on the credit card scanner, purchasing his clothes. </p><p>Exiting the store with two full shopping bags, you paused as you thought of what to do next. “You don’t have a phone, do you?” you asked while standing in front of Brahms. He sheepishly shook his head in return, and so you nodded your head in confirmation, “Phone store it is,” you said before taking Brahms’ free hand and walking towards your next destination. Entering the sterile store, you felt your mind relax from the sudden quietness in comparison to the loud exterior. With only two other customers and three clerks inside, you could feel Brahms’ body unwind. Looking at the variety of phones on display, you both eventually decided on a model that he would prefer. It was on the expensive side, even more expensive than your own smartphone, but Brahms was happy with his choice. Throughout the process of getting his first sim card, he could tell the clerk wasn’t directly looking at him, but instead peering at the right side of his face. He nibbled at the inside of his cheek as he felt his insecurities envelope him, but when he thought back on the words you spoke that morning, a small smile formed on his face as he recalled the fond memory, his diffidence washing away from the small squeeze you gave his hand in reassurance. After choosing a suitable phone case and swiping his card on the card reader, you both left the building and returned to the noisy outdoors. “We still need to get everything set up with your phone,” you said nonchalantly as you pulled his phone out from the bag the clerk gave you. “..But for now..” you continued as you put your number in his contacts, “I’ll give you my number, just in case,” you stated with a chipper smile, handing him his smartphone. He gingerly took it, staring at the screen before pushing it into his front pocket. You looked up, squinting when you saw the sun high up in the clear blue sky. Looking back down at your watch, it read ‘14:03’, “Right.. We’ll have to go grocery shopping, and we’ll have to pick up a few more things for you before heading back,” you said as you reminded yourself of your meeting at 5. Peering up at Brahms, you saw he was still in awe of his surroundings, absorbing the environment around him. You couldn’t help but admire him. “I’m really proud of you, Brahms,” you said softly, to which he fondly looked back at in appreciation. “C’mere..” you said, standing on your tippy toes as he leaned down, letting you give him a tender peck on the cheek before taking his hand once again. </p><p>Walking back to your apartment, a new bag of groceries and toiletries added onto your other full shopping bags, you both slumped against the elevator walls as the exhaustion from walking all day hit the both of you. Lazily opening your apartment door, you let your shopping bags slump against the entryway floor before draping yourself over the sofa. Brahms closed the door behind him, smiling as he saw your worn out figure splayed on the couch. Although he was tired himself, he took the bag of groceries into the kitchen and began putting away the food and ingredients into their respective places. Soon after, he slumped on top of you like a heavy, muscular blanket before sighing into the crook of your neck. Checking the time, you saw that it read ‘15:32’, which gave you ample time to spend with Brahms before preparing him to let you depart for an hour or two. You began rubbing his back in circular motions as you thought of how you’ll approach the subject of you leaving. First, you reached towards his pelvis, his body slightly jerking from the sudden touch before you pulled out his phone. He leaned up, hovering above you as you unlocked his phone screen in front of his face, “Want to get this sorted, then?” you asked with a crafty smile.</p><p>Sitting on his lap, you guided him through his phone options, which he seemed to catch onto quickly. Installing different apps on his phone, such as gmail, twitter, etcetera, you began monologuing him about the internet. “Now, I want you to keep in mind that whatever you post on the internet,” “Stays on the internet, I know,” Brahms finished your sentence boredly, plucking his new phone from your hand. You sulked at his attitude, “How are you so inexperienced yet so informed about these things?” you questioned with a small chuckle. “Books” he simply stated, his eyes still glued to his phone while he made a twitter account. “Mummy and Daddy would always let me read magazines about different subjects, so I’ve always been up to date on these kinds of things,” he said as he began scrolling through his feed. “So those magazines hidden in your desk drawer were for ‘educational purposes’?” you questioned slyly while raising a brow, looking back at his pouting, red face. He locked his phone screen, tossing it on the coffee table before directing his full attention to you, “Well I don’t need those anymore, now that I’ve got you,” he whispered while his hands splayed across your waist, pressing a breathy kiss on the side of your neck. “Haha, a-alright Brahms,” you said bashfully, not wanting to get into anything sexual when you only had an hour before your meeting with Sherlock. “Do you want lunch? I’m famished if you are,” you said, looking back at him with an innocent smile. </p><p>Sitting in front of the telly, now eating a hearty lunch, you figured now would be a good time to bring it up to Brahms. “Uhm.. hey, so..” you began awkwardly, “I have to.. Meet Sherlock soon, in about 15 minutes?” you saw Brahms’ eyes stared firmly at you from this newfound information. “It’s related to work, but I’ll only be gone for an hour or two,” you said, feeling the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end from the way he peered at you. Slowly, he put his plate on the coffee table, his eyes never leaving you as his body turned to face you fully on the sofa. “Can I not.. come with you?” he asked, his head tilting as he pouted. You shook your head, “No, Brahms. It’s related to work, so I have to do this on my own,” you explained in the most tender voice you could muster, almost as if you feared your words might break him. He gently crawled towards your position on the couch, enveloping you in a bear hug, “Promise you’ll be back before dinner..” he whispered, his nose pushing into your hair as he sniffed it. You couldn’t help but smile, “No promises, but I’ll try,” you responded, to which his grip on you tightened, “Promise…” he repeated, his arms that surrounded you unrelenting. “F-Fine, Brahms. I promise I’ll be home by 8pm,” you conceded, your heart rate increasing from his sudden demand. “Good,” was all he replied, his hold on you loosening subtly. “You can text me as much as you want while I’m gone,” you said, trying to reassure him. Pulling away from the hug, you looked at him to find him staring at you with hooded eyes, your heart skipping a beat from his sensual gaze. “R-Right, well.. I better go call a cab, then,” you said before getting up, making your way to your front door and bending down to put your shoes on. Standing up, you jumped slightly to find Brahms standing right behind you. He continued to stare as you pulled your coat over your arms and shoulders, stopping you before you could reach for your keys. Pressing you against your door with his own body, he clasped onto your jaw before delving his face into your hair one last time, inhaling deeply before letting out a ragged breath. Grinding the tent forming in his pants against your hip, he gave you a tender kiss on your forehead before standing back, giving you enough space to cautiously open the door. “I’ll be waiting,” was the last thing he said, his voice lowered by an octave. You sucked in your lip, it took you so much restraint not to abandon your responsibilities and take him then and there. You simply nodded, patting your back pocket to confirm you had your keys and phone before closing your front door, Brahms’ stare disappearing behind it.</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20 - Visitation</h2></a>
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    <p>Standing in the elevator, you stared at your reflection in the mirrored walls, still registering Brahms’ sudden behaviour. Your cheeks heated up from the thought of what he might do to you after your meeting with Sherlock. Feeling your gravity swivel as the elevator halted, you harshly rubbed your eyes before exiting the opening doors and walking onto the sidewalk. While you were looking for a free taxi at a cab stand, you heard a familiar ‘ding’ come from your phone. “To your left, a few blocks down. That one’s free,” it read. You looked up towards your apartment window only to find Brahms staring back down at you with a smug smile. You smiled back, giving him a small wave before texting back “Thanks :)” Knocking on the window of the cab, you were soon on your way to 221b Baker Street.</p><p>Stepping up to the door with a lopsided knocker, you pulled out the spare key Sherlock had gifted you for ‘convenience’ and unlocked the door. You cleaned the soles of your shoes on the doormat before bounding up the stairs, rapping your index knuckle on Sherlock’s apartment door. Milliseconds later the door swung open, Sherlock’s figure staring down at you with scrutiny before pacing away, suggesting you to come inside. Scanning the room, you were greeted with a cluttered mess. It wasn’t dirty by any means, just disorganised and slightly dusty. You wouldn’t expect any less from Sherlock. “You’re late,” he said bluntly, striding towards the kitchen as you pulled your coat off. “Oh c’mon, I was only 2 minutes late. Traffic was jammers today,” you said, throwing your jacket on top of his trenchcoat. Hearing the kettle boil, you sat down on John’s comfortable chair and clasped your hands together in your lap. “So when did the sexual relations begin with Brahms, then?” Sherlock questioned, and all you could do was roll your eyes. You knew that he knew, you just hoped he’d have some level of self-awareness to not bring it up. “Does it matter?” you responded, turning your head to watch him pull out a fresh pack of digestives from the cupboard. “You’re tampering with evidence,” he replied, stuffing one of the chocolate biscuits in his mouth before pouring two cups of tea. “He’s not evidence, Sherly. He’s a human being,” you defended with a sigh, kicking your feet up on the coffee table in defiance. Walking back into the living area, he pushed your obnoxiously placed feet off with the tray that he placed on the table. Sitting forward, you picked up your teacup while Sherlock poured freshly made tea inside. “Regardless, your relationship with that man could affect the case,” he said after swallowing the last of the biscuit before sitting down on his own assigned chair. Pouring himself a cup of tea, he crossed his legs before continuing, “Speaking of, the police have had their chance to interrogate Mr and Mrs Heelshire.” Your eyebrows raised at this newfound information. “..and?” you asked, taking a sip of your own tea before recognising the familiar taste. “When did you get the chance to have these tea leaves delivered?” you chuckled in amusement, realising that Sherlock must’ve ordered express shipping for the certain brand of tea bags he was interested in back in the mansion. “I ordered them while I was staying in the hotel. I figured you and I would um.. enjoy them,” he said, unusually coyly. You reacted with a judgemental, but still grateful smile before taking another sip. “During the interrogation, the Heelshire’s fully confessed to what they’d done to Brahms,” he continued. You harshly swallowed, you weren’t expecting the police to garner a confession out of them so easily. “Well, that’s good news then.. But, what about Emily Cribbs? Did they confess to her murder?” you asked, titling your head. He shook his head in response, “They denied her murder, but they confessed they knew of it. Even allowed her body to be disposed of in the forest nearby their estate. They refused to give anyone a motive relating to her murder… or to anything, really” he stated. Your brows furrowed as your eyes focused on the dimly lit fireplace to your left, the cogs in your head turning. “They’re hiding something…” you whispered under your breath, watching as the tiny embers rose from the fire. “.. or protecting someone,” Sherlock said, his ice-cold stare burning into your face. You looked back at him sternly, “He didn’t do it. We both know this,” you stated with pursed lips. “I never said he did,” Sherlock said as his face relaxed, his head tilting cheekily. You knew he was just trying to get a rise out of you. “But, all signs point to Brahms for now, considering his alleged passing happened not too long after Emily’s own time of death. Don’t be surprised if the police come knocking at your door for some questioning,” he warned, sipping on his tea without breaking eye contact. You nibbled on the inside of your cheek in contemplation. You knew Brahms wouldn’t handle getting involved in an investigation very well, and the last thing you’d want is for him to get entangled with his parents' crimes. “I suppose we’d have to find a new lead before I let that happen,” you said.</p><p>You both spent your time together conspiring different motives behind the death of Emily and false imprisonment of Brahms, either sitting in silence while thinking, or writing down disheveled notes which were now scattered across the floor until Sherlock’s expensive tea went cold. You were now slumped in John’s chair, exhausted by the entire day. With your fingers laced together on your stomach, your eyes began to wander around the small apartment. Starting with Sherlock, whom was sitting in his usual ‘mind-palace’ pose, the sleeves of his shirt now undone and rolled up, your eyes continued to glance towards the now quenched fireplace before directing up to his tall bookcase. Scanning through the entire bookshelf, you noticed a particular book that was partially hanging out, which had a significantly less amount of dust and was very well looked after, compared to the rest. Your brows furrowed until you recognised the title on the spine. “You stole Brahms’ Ulysses?!” you exclaimed, drawing Sherlock out of his mind palace while you jumped to your feet and marched towards the book before pulling it out of the shelf. “It bothered him to no end when it went missing from his collection, he spent hours looking for it, Sherlock!” you said with an accusatory tone, his eyes slightly widening at the loss of his nickname. “Well- I’ve just been meaning to read it, is all! I didn’t realize it’d bother him that much,” he responded childishly before standing up, “You can give it back to him if he wants it that bad.” He said with a slight pout while looking down at you. You frowned up at him before sighing, feeling your previous anger cool off, “I’ll take it back with me, but… I’ll ask if he’ll let you borrow it. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind sharing,” you conceded. Your cheeks flushed as you watched his pupils dilate for a brief second, realising just how close you were together. The subtle double entendre of your words settled in the pit of your stomach. You were talking about the book, right?</p><p>Looking down at your watch, you figured now would be a good time to go back home. The last thing you’d want to do is show up any time after 8pm. Recognising this from your gesture, Sherlock moved to the side to let you retrieve your jacket. “They’re exhuming Emily Cribbs’ grave tomorrow morning for the investigation. I’ll need you at the mortuary tomorrow, preferably around noon,” Sherlock explained as you slipped your arms into your jacket sleeves. “Would 12 be fine?” you asked while buttoning up your coat. “Perfect. I’ll see you then,” Sherlock said with a nod, his hands now clasped behind his back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sherly!” you said in response before closing the door on Sherlock’s elusive smile. Bounding down the stairs and exiting the building, you pulled out your phone after you’d realised you never checked it during your stay. Your brows furrowed when you saw no text messages. Odd, considering Brahms’ clingy nature, you were sure he would’ve sent you at least two or three messages during your departure. Looking up from your mobile screen, you hauled a taxi before hopping inside. Giving the driver your address, you dialed Brahms’ phone number, watching as the city went by before hearing him pick up. “Brahms?” you asked. You heard nothing on his end, until you leaned closer to your phone’s speaker. All you could hear was him breathing. “Brahms- I, uh.. I’m on my way home now, are you… are you doing alright?” you said, slightly concerned by his behaviour. “..Mm,” was all you heard him say, envisioning him nodding on his end of the call. “Alright.. I’ll only be a few minutes, I’ll be back soon,” you consoled him. You heard him sigh, his breath slightly hitched before ending the call. Hearing the dial tone, you looked at your phone screen in confusion as your nerves spiked from his conduct. Soon after, the taxi parked by your apartment building. Paying the driver, you stood out of the cab and closed the car door behind you while you looked for the window of your apartment. Your heart rose to your throat when you saw there were no lights on inside. Gripping onto your door key, you made your way into the elevator, trying to level your breathing pattern as the doors slid open to your floor. Cautiously, you made your way to your door, slowly and quietly opening it. Peeking inside, you were greeted with complete darkness.  Your hairs stood up on end as you fully entered, struggling to find the lightswitch you’d normally have no problem locating. “B-Brahms..?” you called out, now genuinely worried about who you really let into your home. Suddenly, the door behind you shut loudly, now denied of the light coming from the hallway, moonlight now your only source of illumination. “Brahm-!” you were cut short once you felt strong arms engulf you, <i>his</i> strong arms. “Missed you…” he said with bated breath, his voice slightly muffled by the mask that you thought he’d long abandoned. “Brahms- What are you..?” you questioned. “I needed you.. for so long..” he said, his cardigan-covered arms tightening around you as his body pressed further against your back. He was desperately trying to get in contact with you as much as possible. “I was such a good boy while you were gone.. promise..” he said, his voice slightly strained as he pressed his masked face into the crook of your neck, “B-But.. I need you.. right now..” his voice was gravelly and deep while he pleaded to you, and you felt his bulge pressing against the small of your back. “Touch…?” he whispered quietly, his movements stalling as he awaited your response. You stood there, staring into the blank void in front of you while you thought through your options. While you were concerned about his sudden shift in behaviour, almost scared for your own safety, his demeanor… excited you. The juxtaposition of his hulking, dominating build with his beseeching tone caused a type of warmth to build up at the base of your groin. Not knowing exactly where he was positioned unless he was touching you only exacerbated those feelings. Sucking in your bottom lip, you eventually conceded with a nod before whispering, “Touch.”</p><p>As soon as that special word slipped past your lips, Brahms exhaled breathily, his warm breath fanning out from under his mask. His hands were quick to untuck your shirt from your trousers, before greedily slipping under. The tips of his fingers ran across the skin of your torso until they reached your chest. His warm, large hands began fondling your breasts with fervor while he grinded his hardened member against your back. You could hear him moan and groan right by your ear, which only turned you on even more. Chest heaving, his nimble fingers ripped your shirt open and pulled down your bra, exposing them to the cold, open air, the only source of warmth were his fingers that attached themselves to your nipples. Spending his time pinching and playing with them to your enjoyment, he eventually picked you up by your torso, marching over to the large couch in your living room and tossing you on there with ease. Hovering over you, you could see the reflection of the moonlight in his unhinged eyes, which were hidden by the partially illuminated porcelain mask that was cracked and damaged from years of wear and tear. He stared down at you momentarily, tilting his head before looking down at your body. Sitting up on his knees, he quickly unzipped your trousers before hastily pulling them off your legs. His hands smoothed over your inner thighs, taking in the dimly lit sight of your clothed sex, which was now moist from the time Brahms spent playing with your breasts. Tenderly swiping his thumb pad from your entrance to the top of your clit, he watched as your breath hitched from the much needed touch. He continued to watch you writhe with hooded eyes as he softly circled his thumb against your clitoris, and you could hear the soft unzip of his own trousers as he pulled his member out with his free hand. You closed your eyes, focusing on regulating your breath as you felt your panties get slowly pulled off your legs. Your eyes soon shot open once you felt the hot, wet tip of his erection press against your vulva, suddenly realising his intention. “B-Brahms!” you exclaimed in a whisper, locking eyes with his own widened pair. He remained frozen, doe eyes staring back at you, hesitant as to what to do in his current position. “A-Are you sure you want to do this, Brahms..? Right now…?” you asked, unsure as to whether Brahms had fully realised the gravity behind his decision. You saw his eyes soften before leaning forward until he was hovering above you again, “Do.. do you want to..?” he asked, his fingers insecurely playing with your hair. You frowned in thought while looking at his porcelain lips, before making eye contact with him while you shook your head. “Not now, Brahms. With the case, or even the future itself being so uncertain, I don’t think now is.. the right time,” you explained, slightly wincing. You would’ve loved to, but you knew you were both better off waiting for a better time. A more certain time. </p><p>Brahms simply nodded in compliance, before re-positioning himself on his knees. Pressing his member back against your vulva, you looked at him with confusion before he quickly defended himself, “I-I won’t put it in! Promise..” he explained, before pressing your thighs together and draping your legs over his right shoulder. You couldn’t help but smile at his sheepish behaviour before closing your eyes again, now understanding his prerogative. Holding your legs in place securely with his right arm, he slowly began thrusting his member in and out between your thighs. You could feel the coil at the base of your groin tightening with every thrust, his shaft rubbing against your clit from the movement. As he continued his humping, both his pre-cum and your own natural lubricant began mixing together, forming a sopping mess between your thighs. The slickness between your legs helped Brahms find a rhythm, which soon became unrelenting. His fingertips began leaving bruises on your thighs as his grip tightened around them. With the fast pace of his cock rubbing against your wet vulva and clitoris, along with the sultry noises of Brahms grunting and moaning, you could feel the coil within you tightening until you couldn’t take it any more. “Y/N… p-please, I’m gonna-” Brahms begged, which was all you needed to feel your white-hot orgasm spread across your body, all the way until it reached the tip of your toes. From this, your thighs clenched tightly together, which sent Brahms spiraling after one last thrust, his seed ejaculating onto your torso, even reaching as far as your breasts. You both stayed in that position for a minute, trying to catch your breath until Brahms was the first to move. “I-I’m sorry, I’ll… I’ll clean you up, just one moment,” he said as he untangled himself from your legs. Disappearing into the darkness, you laid there on the couch while still coming down from your orgasm. You soon heard his footsteps return into the living room, your eyes closing tightly shut as soon as Brahms turned on the light. Soon after you re-opened them, adjusting them to the new source of light, you looked at Brahms’ figure standing by the hallway entrance, who was now holding fresh towels and two pairs of pyjamas. “C’mon then, we better get you showered,” he said with a bashful smile, his now unmasked head tilting towards the general direction of the bathroom. You lightly giggled in return, before standing up and hugging your ripped shirt close to your body while you both made your way to the bathroom.</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21 - Mortuary</h2></a>
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  <span>Waking up to the sound of your phone alarm, you winced as you opened your eyes to the sunshine that leaked through your bedroom curtains. Slipping your hand under your pillow and pulling your phone out from underneath, you ceased your phone’s angry blaring with a small click. Flopping your head back down on your plush pillow, you turned your head towards the mildly distrurbed Brahms, his brows furrowed by the disruption of his slumber, but he still opted to keep his eyes shut. Watching him attempt to return to dreamland, you couldn’t help but compare his now peaceful air to the unhinged version of himself that he displayed last night. It was comparable to night and day. Your own brows knitted together as you glanced at his mask, which was haphazardly placed on the dresser which sat at the other end of your bedroom. You nibbled on your bottom lip in contemplation, was it right for him to behave that way last night? You certainly weren’t complaining by the result of it, but you knew deep down that it was something that needed to be addressed sooner than later. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you sat at the edge of the bed with a sigh before standing up and stretching your legs. Brahms simply watched your form as you attempted to touch your toes, hoping it’ll help wake your muscles up faster. “Have we plans today, Y/N? It’s only 8am,” Brahms asked inquisitively, wondering why your day had to start so early. Turning around to face him with a small “oh”, you explained, “..Duty calls today, I’m afraid,” you said with a yawn. Brahms fully sat up at this new information, “But.. it’s a Sunday?” he asked, tilting his head with a pout. “Any day is a day for work when dealing with Sherlock,” you said begrudgingly with a smirk. “W-Well.. can I at least.. come with you, this time?” Brahms responded in a partial beg, crawling towards your end of the bed. Chewing the inside of your gum nervously, you hesitated upon the idea. While you wouldn’t really have a problem bringing him into your brief visit to work, you also worried about today’s events affecting Brahms. “Well.. the thing is..” you started while sitting down next to him on the bed, “Sherlock and I.. our plan today is to look at Emily Cribbs.. her body, to be exact,” you explained cautiously over the sensitive topic at hand. “I’m not sure if it’d be a good idea for you to come with me today, considering the circumstances..” you said, placing a hand over his own. He looked down at where your hands connected before making eye contact with you, “B-But- can I still come? I just… I can avoid that part of your.. um, work..” he continued to beg. You pursed your lips with a sigh, before granting him a nod. “You’re lucky there’s a lab nearby the morgue where you can wait while we inspect her,” you said with a small smirk before patting his broad shoulder, “Welp, since you insist on following me to work, you better get ready with me.”</span>
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  <span>With both of you now fully dressed, Brahms stood by the kitchen counter, eating his weetabix and scrolling through twitter. Entering into the living room from your brief visit from the bathroom, you spotted the book you'd taken from Sherlock abandoned from last night’s events in the small hallway that led to your apartment door. “Oh-, Brahms!” you said, striding over and picking the book off the floor. “Guess what I found~” you said as you wiggled the book in front of his face. His face lit up immediately once he recognised the book cover, “My Ulysses! Where did you-” “Sherlock. He stole it during his little visit in your mansion,” you explained, your face twisting into a disapproving look just thinking about Sherlock’s sneaky ways. Brahms’ brows furrowed in offence from Sherlock’s misconduct as he held the book tenderly in his hands. “He was um.. Wondering if he could borrow it? Just until he’s finished reading it,” you said, both your hands clasped together. He looked between you and the book in his hands with his innocent doe eyes, tilting his head as he contemplated. “I’ll.. he’ll give it back once he’s done.. right?” Brahms asked sheepishly. “As long as I’m here, I’ll ensure you’ll get your book back, no matter the stakes. That’s a promise,” you said with a reassuring smile, and after a few seconds of rethinking, Brahms slowly placed the book back in your hands. “You promise?” he asked, giving you an unsure smile. “I promise,” you reassured him again, “Thank you, Brahms. I’m sure he’ll greatly appreciate it, even if he might not show it,” you said as you placed the book in your faux-leather satchel, which sat on the countertop next to Brahms’ bowl of cereal. </span>
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  <span>You then sat on the couch inside your living room, pulling out and looking at the picture of Emily you’d plucked from the photobook before leaving the Mansion. You wanted to get a good look at what her facial features looked like before her untimely death. “Oh.. did you get that from the attic?” Brahms asked, now standing behind the couch you laid upon. “Oh- yes, I did. I figured it might somehow help with the case,” you said, your eyes focused on the picture. Brahms gingerly plucked the photo from your hands, inspecting it himself with concentrated eyes. “I.. I wish I could help more with the case.. to be able to remember more..” he said, unblinking. “But my mind.. it’s all a blur..” he said with a frustrated sigh before handing the photo back, hopping over the couch as you made space for him to sit on the plush sofa. “Although it would be very helpful for you to remember what happened all those years ago..” you said as you laid your legs across his lap, “I don’t want you to go through any unjust mental exhaustion for the sake of it, at least not now,” you explained tenderly. “You and, um.. Sherlock.. you both believe me when I say I hadn’t anything to do with her death.. right?” Brahms said, a tinge of insecurity in his throat. You gave him a look of sympathy before saying, “Of course, Brahms. Neither I nor Sherlock would even let you live in my apartment if that weren’t the case,” you said with a small chuckle as you felt Brahms’ body loosen under your legs. “The only people I blame so far are the police and their negligence for dropping the case so quickly.. and your parents for allowing all this to happen in the first place. And now they’re stuck where they belong,” you said as you continued to reaffirm Brahms. He simply nodded quietly in return, a small smile displayed on his face, relieved with your confidence in him. “Well, seems like now’s a good time to get a cab,” you said while looking at your watch, “Are you ready, Brahms?” you questioned, which he then responded with a more triumphant nod before you stood up, Brahms following you suit.</span>
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  <span>Once the taxi arrived outside St. Bart’s, you paid the cab driver before you and Brahms crawled out of the small compartment. Stepping out onto the street, you sighed as you took in the familiar sight of the Hospital. You missed being back in London. Instinctively, you took Brahms’ hand as you guided him towards the double doors. Walking down the hallways, you watched as Brahms’ eyes whizzed around the building, taking in the clinical sightings as you passed them by until you came across a familiar lab room. Pushing the double doors open, you waltzed into the dimly lit room only to find Molly putting away a couple of beakers into a high cabinet. “Fancy meeting you here, Molly,” you said with a smile, making yourself present, and she responded with her usual warm smile, “Y/N, feels like it’s been ages!” she said. “Sorry to drag you in on a Sunday morning, you know how Sherly can be..” you said, rubbing the back of your neck with your free hand. “Oh well, anything to help with the case,” she said in a bashful tone, and you couldn’t help but retort with a cheeky lift of your eyebrows. You’d known about her undying crush on Sherlock ever since you’d met the two, and you couldn’t help but tease her at any chance you got. On queue, Sherlock emerged from the small coat room. “Yes, anything to get this case solved ASAP-” Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks, mid roll-up of his left sleeve, with an incredulous look on his face, “What’s <em>he</em> doing here?” You scrunched your nose at him, “He’s coming to visit with me today, Sherly. Rest assured he’ll stay out of your way,” you said, bumping your hip against Brahms’ shy form. “I was just going to say..” Molly said, directing her attention to Brahms, “Is that.. your new boyfriend, Y/N?” Molly asked innocently, which sent both you and Brahms’ ears ablaze. “Something like that..” Sherlock spat under his breath, both his sleeves now rolled up. “Um.. I suppose you could say that, yes,” you said, directing your eyes up at Brahms. “Brahms, this is Molly Hooper. Molly, Brahms,” you said, introducing them as you gestured Brahms to Molly, who stood there patiently with a smile. He stood there, frozen and unsure of what to do. You lightly chuckled before lifting Brahms’ hand that was in your own, pulling your hand out of his grip and holding his hand out to Molly. “This is what you do when you meet new people, Brahms. You shake hands,” you couldn’t help but giggle at his unsure conduct, reassuring the slightly confused Molly with a nod. She gently took his hand and shook it, and to your delight, he tenderly reciprocated. “Good!” you said with a gleeful smile, looking up at Brahms with proud eyes. </span>
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  <span>“Yes, yes, as lovely as introductions are,” Sherlock sarcastically interrupted, “We still need to get a move on,” he lifted his arm, an impatient thumb pointing towards the morgue. You sighed, knowing that as long as Sherlock was around, tender moments like this tend to run short. “Alright, relax, I’ll join you in a minute,” you assured Sherlock, before him and Molly made their ways to the room next door. Directing your full attention to Brahms, you held onto both of his hands while giving him a proud smile. “You did very good back there, Brahms. You’ve been doing very well these past few days,” you congratulated him, to his slight embarrassment. “I’ll.. be going to the morgue now, Brahms. Can you stay put in here while I work with Sherly?” you asked, to which he responded with a sheepish nod. “Brahms,” you said sternly, tilting your head slightly upward. “Yes.. I-.. I will. I’ll be on my phone.. or whatever,” he responded, playing with his sleeves while avoiding your eye contact. Taking the tip of your index finger, you guided his sight to your face by his chin. “Good boy,” you commended with an impish grin, delighting in the way Brahms’ cheeks turned a rosie colour from the pet name, “I’ll only be a few minutes,” was the last thing you said before rustling his hair and retreating to the morgue. </span>
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  <span>“Didn’t realise your nanny hours extended into your work,” Sherlock commented as soon as you stepped into the sterile room. “Sherlock,” you said tersely, before reaching into your satchel. “You better play nice,” you said, pulling out Brahms’ Ulysses, “Considering he’s willing to share.” You held the thick book out to Sherlock, to which he prudently took with his now gloved hands. He awkwardly looked down at the book cover before looking up at you. Placing the book on the nearby cupboard, he swiftly changed the conversation by turning himself to the recently exhumed body. “Right,” he said as he clapped his hands together, you following suit as you stretched on your own pair of gloves. Joining Molly at the mortuary table, she unzipped the bag to unveil the remaining bones of Emily Cribbs, which had been organised into her skeletal shape, although you and Sherlock’s only interest was her skull. “Looking at the length and curvature here..” he said, opening the bag further with his index finger, “Her head was kicked in by the heel of a boot,” he concluded. “Judging by the width of it, the shoe size had to be at least a size 11,” you took note after holding a ruler to the crushed portion of Emily’s skull. “Well, that entirely rules Brahms out as the murderer,” you said with a relieved sigh, feeling a miniscule weight lift your shoulders. “While he is a tall man, I highly doubt he had size 11 shoes at the age of eight,” you said with a slight chuckle, pulling a giggle out of Molly. “Yes.. but it doesn’t lead us any closer to the true culprit,” Sherlock said, along with a frustrated shut of his miniature magnifying glass. “While all signs seem to point towards the Heelshire’s and their misdemeanours, they’ve still yet to confess to killing Emily Cribbs,” Sherlock said, mainly to himself as he shifted his internal notes within his brain. “D’you reckon I should give a chance at interrogating? They might be willing to discuss it with a more.. familiar face,” you suggested. “...Maybe,” Sherlock said, before re-opening his eyes, returning from his brief departure in his mind palace. “For now, we need to gather more intel before you do. We’re going back to my place,” he stated, pulling off his gloves, grabbing his book as he strode towards the doors which led back into the lab. “Excuse me- what?” you questioned, wording a small ‘thank you’ to Molly before marching after Sherlock. “I’ll call a cab, you’re coming with me,” he said, pulling his coat over his shoulders, “<em>Both</em> of you are,” he said, directing his cold eyes towards the startled Brahms. All you could do was give Brahms a benign shrug as Sherlock quickly made his way towards the lab’s double doors, quickly exiting out into the hospital’s hallway. “Seems like you’ll be visiting Sherlock’s apartment today, Brahmsy,” you said, taking his hand and giving it an affectionate squeeze. He started down at you fondly, before looking towards the double doors, still flapping in and outward from Sherlock’s aggressive push. “Um.. he seems to be in a hurry..” Brahms said tentatively, pointing towards the exit. “Yeah, we need to get a move on,” you said with a soft grin, tugging on Brahms’ hand as you both made your way out of the lab. </span>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22 - Memories</h2></a>
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  <span>Pushing the doors open, you and Brahms exited St Bart’s. Stepping out onto the concrete street, you saw Sherlock clamber inside a taxi that he’d just recently hauled, leaving the door open for you two to enter. Hunching down, you were about to enter the taxi until you looked up at Brahms, who remained frozen still. Looking at his face inquisitively, you saw that he was distracted by something, or someone. Following his line of sight, all you saw was the bustling street in front of you, a myriad of people walking by, attending to their daily business. “Brahms.. Is everything alright?” you asked, tugging on the sleeve of his sweater. Breaking out of his trance, he looked down at you with wide eyes. He simply shook his head quickly before pushing you into the taxi, seating you in your usual spot between him and Sherlock. Closing the car door, the cab pulled off the cerb, driving the three of you to Baker Street. You looked up at Brahms with deep concern, but his vision stayed facing forward, perforating two deep holes into the back of the headrest in front of him as his eyes seemingly appeared to veil over. Looking towards Sherlock, he seemed either disinterested or unaware of your predicament, opting to stare out the window to his right. You looked down, you watched Brahms’ hand snake around your thigh, gripping it softly for support as his vision unwavered from the headrest. </span>
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  <span>The car jostled as it pulled up against the curb where the familiar door remained, Sherlock paid the driver before opting to exit through the door to his right as Brahms hesitantly opened the other. Unlocking the front door, Sherlock quickly strode up the flight of stairs, the two of you following close behind as the front door slammed shut. “Why do they feel so inclined to keep their motives confidential,” Sherlock said as he threw his borrowed book haphazardly onto his desk, “When they were so willing to admit to Brahms’ false imprisonment,” he muttered, a tinge of frustration shadowing his speech as he pulled his jacket off. Throwing his jacket towards the general direction of where his coat rack remained, he slumped down on his chair, running his fingers through his hair. You scoffed when his long coat came in contact with your face, instinctually catching it before draping it on a nearby hook. “Perhaps they’re unwilling to open that can of worms,” you said as a suggestion. “Yes, but what do they <em>gain</em> from that?” he asked through seething teeth, his fingertips rumbling against the leather surface of his chair. “Well.. so far we know Brahms has been linked to all of this.. I wouldn’t be surprised, or rather I’d be inclined to believe Brahms.. is, um.. a key factor..?” you said before turning your head to the unusual behaviour Brahms was expressing. He was crouched at the left end of the sofa that sat against the bullet-hole ridden wall. During you and Sherlock’s brief dialogue, Brahms had seemingly scrounged for a nearby biro and a few empty scraps of paper, and was currently scribbling what would appear to be chicken scratch on the crumpled surface. “Speaking of.. What happened back there, before the taxi ride? You seemed distracted,” you questioned, taking gentle steps towards him before peeking at what he was drawing. “Familiar… I-I, I saw someone.. triggered something, in my memory,” he said nonlinearly as his large hand gestured wildly towards his temple with an open palm before attempting to smooth out the paper on the leather surface. You watched as Brahms finished the drawing, his face panicked as he held the image up to you. Gingerly taking it from his hand, he bent down to continue working out his blurry memories on the scraps of paper. Sherlock stood as you peered down at the messy drawing Brahms produced, taking his stance over your shoulder. </span>
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  <span>“Those are.. the estate gates, correct? There seems to be a small gathering taking place, right.. there,” you pointed with your index finger towards the dark patch next to where you remember was the mailbox, which was situated right outside the rusted entrance. “Yes.. Yes! They were Mummy and Daddy’s friends, I remember,” Brahms exclaimed. Sherlock plucked the drawing out of your hand, before waltzing up to the wall behind the sofa, pinning it with a thumbtack to the worn wallpaper. Soon after, Brahms produced many more drawings. “I remember one day… they handed Mummy and Daddy a large box, when they were all talking together by the gate,” he said, pointing to the drawing of the intricate box that the Heelshire’s supposedly received from their ‘friends’. “And you’re saying.. you saw one of their friends today, in London?” you asked, making worried eye contact with the now standing Brahms. “I’m not sure if it was one of them, exactly.. I just distinctly remember them wearing all black, regal attire, just like the man I saw earlier today,” he said, an undertone of exhaustion hindering his speech. You could tell the hysterics of his resurfacing memories were mentally exhausting him. Although, this didn’t stop Sherlock and his thirst for answers. He harshly grabbed Brahms by the shoulders, looking up at the taller man with his usual intensity. “Brahms- These memories are key for solving this mystery, I’ll need you to use that brain of yours to recall everything you know about these people,” Sherlock said, unblinking. “W-Well, I..” “<em>THINK</em>!” Sherlock exclaimed at Brahms’ hesitation. He was shaking. Brahms harshly closed his eyes, escaping Sherlock’s severe glare as he rushed through the recollection of his early childhood. “P-Painting.. The painting!” Brahms’ eyes shot open, a trembling finger pointing towards a scraggly drawing of a bald man with small, circular glasses, “Emily Cribbs, I remember.. Her family was gifted a painting of her with her parents, shortly after she.. stopped.. visiting,” he said, voice quivering in sadness at the mention of his late childhood friend. “We were soon gifted a painting, by that man, before I… when they..” his eyes glazed over as slumped back down onto the sofa when Sherlock’s grip on him loosened, Brahms’ fingertips began massaging his temples as he became overrun by a migraine. “Most artists are predisposed to sign their artwork. I wouldn’t be surprised to find a name on the bottom right corner,” you said, your eyes fixated on Brahms’ hunched posture. “Yes, regardless of it being an alias or not, it’s a start,” Sherlock confirmed. “Do you have the painting with you, then?” Sherlock asked nonchalantly as he added notes to the new information that hung on the wall. You gave him an incredulous look, “Stealing a painting of the Heelshire’s wasn’t exactly on top of my list of priorities when packing my suitcase before leaving the estate,” you said, your words dripping with sarcasm. Sherlock turned his head to squint at you in distaste. You rolled your eyes in response before stating, “I have a photo card of the painting. Pray the print is detailed enough to reveal the man’s name,” you said with a tilt of your head before walking up to Brahms. “Good, go get it,” Sherlock demanded, his eyes unstraying from the information in front of him. “You’ll get your photo tomorrow, Sherly. I have to get Brahms some rest tonight, you’ve exhausted him enough as it is,” you said solemnly as you ran your fingers through Brahms’ dark curly hair, to which he responded by wrapping his arms around your waist from his seated position. “We don’t have time-” “Yes, we do,” you scolded Sherlock, “You just don’t have the patience,” you responded with a lift of your brow as Sherlock grumbled, before striding towards his seat.</span>
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  <span>Helping Brahms to his feet, you felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket. Not expecting any calls that day, you frowned before looking at the caller ID. It wasn’t anyone that was already in your contacts. Hesitantly, you answered while holding it up to your ear. “Hello? Who is this?” you immediately questioned. “Hey! It’s ah, it’s me. Malcolm,” you heard on the other end, your eyes widening. You mentally kicked yourself for completely forgetting about him. “Oh, heyy! Malcolm!” you said aloud, to which Brahms responded with wide eyes, meanwhile Sherlock merely responded with a slight scrunch of his nose, both of the two men watching your shocked expression. “How did um- How did you get my number?” you asked with a nervous chuckle, looking between the two for any semblance of support. Brahms looked back at Sherlock tensely, to which Sherlock mouthed ‘Who’s Malcolm?’ Brahms responded by silently mouthing ‘Grocery Boy’, to which Sherlock’s eyes lit up at the resurfaced information that he’d purposefully abandoned. “Oh, well I uh.. To be honest, the Heelshire’s gave me your number, before you arrived. Y’know, just in case of emergency,” Malcolm said sheepishly. “Ahh- aha.. that- that makes sense, I suppose,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck. Switching the phone call to speaker, the three of you listened intently. “So- Uhh, I visited yesterday,” Malcolm said apprehensively, to which you winced in response while Brahms nibbled on his lower lip nervously, his eyes darting between you and the caller ID. “Y’know, just wanted to make sure everything was okay. You never answered the door, though, so I figured I should call. Is everything alright?” Malcolm asked. He seemed genuinely worried. ‘Should I tell him?’ you mouthed to the boys. Simultaneously, Sherlock nodded while Brahms shook his head. Giving them a desperate glare at their indecisiveness, you chewed on your fingernails. “Y/N? Are you there?” Malcolm asked after a beat of silence went by. “Y-Yeah! I am, sorry. Got distracted. Um.. about that.. I..” you drew back your lips before confessing. “I won’t be returning to the mansion any more,” you said truthfully. “Oh-? Did it get too scary, staying in there?” Malcolm responded with a cheeky chuckle. “Yeah haha.. You could say that,” you said, glancing at Brahms. “Ah, but what about your paycheck? I still have more than a month’s worth for you-” “Just- Uh, just hold onto it. Consider it repentance for my sudden departure,” you cut him off, wanting to end the conversation before he starts asking questions. “Are you sure? It’s quite a large sum of money,” Malcolm said, his voice becoming much cheerier at the new offering. “Yeah, honestly. It’s yours to keep,” you said, trying not to think about the money you’re losing out on. “Amazing.. Thank you so much, Y/N. We should definitely go out for dinner sometime, if you’re ever around again-” “Yep- sure, sounds great I’ll see you when I see you! Bye Malcolm,” you cut him off quickly, seeing Brahms’ face harden from jealousy. Hanging up the phone, you sighed deeply, happy that the phone call was over.</span>
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  <span>“At least that’s one loose thread cut,” Sherlock commented to himself, “Tea?” he asked, before standing up to boil the kettle. “I’d love to, but we should really get going. Brahms is worn out from today,” you explained, rubbing the small of Brahms’ back with your palm. Just as Sherlock re-entered the living room to attend your departure, Sherlock’s apartment door gently opened. “Oh! Hello, am I interrupting anything?” said the familiar voice, which belonged to Sherlock’s ash-blonde comrade. “Oh, hello John! It’s been a while-” “Nope, they were just leaving,” Sherlock cut you short, annunciating the ‘p’ in ‘nope.’ “Y/N! It’s been ages! How’ve you been?” John ignored Sherlock’s comment, taking your hand with a firm handshake. “Doing well, just currently working with your firstborn,” you chided jokingly, nodding your head towards the pouting Sherlock. “Oh, and who’s this then?” John questioned towards Brahms, his journalistic tendencies coming out. “Is he a new client?” he said, giving the quiet Brahms a friendly smile. “Oh no, he’s my ah.. Boyfriend” “Colleague” you and Sherlock said at the same time. You frowned at Sherlock, your face reading ‘What the hell has gotten into you?’ Sherlock merely softly furrowed his brow at you in response before placing his hand on the small of your back, ushering you towards the now open door. “Really? You have a boyfriend now?” John gleamed, knowing your dating life was previously rather dry. “I always thought that you two would..” John said, a subtle finger pointing between you and Sherlock. Your eyebrows raised at the comment, a small “Huh?” escaping your lips. Sherlock closed his eyes, his patience running short from this conversation. A soft blush formed across your cheeks at John’s suggestion before a small giggle escaped your mouth, “Well, I mean.. Mrs Hudson always had her suspicions about you two, and now we see how that turned out,” you said, suggesting to the iconic duo. John merely shrugged in defeat, accepting the point you’d made. An awkward tension soon filled the room, to which you figured now would be an optimal time to leave as you took Brahms’ hand. “Well, we better go then, Brahmsy” you said, stepping into the hallway. “I’ll have that photo for you tomorrow, Sherlock,” you promised, to which he nodded as he held the doorknob. “And, um.. Thank you for the book, Brahms,” Sherlock said. Not expecting a thank you, Brahms’ mind scrambled for a response, until opting to nod in return before Sherlock closed the door on the both of you. “...Brahmsy?” John commented towards Sherlock with a sly smile on his face. “Shut up,” Sherlock murmured, before walking into the kitchen to make two cups of tea. </span>
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